The Hole Where Her Heart Used To Be
by mymindismyweapon
Summary: Arya returns to Westeros but struggles with her identity and the people who love her. The hole where her heart used to be yearns for their love, but she doesn't want to experience the same hurt from her lost family. In order to find herself again, she has to accept the risk that comes with love.
1. Chapter 1

Mist rolled through the trees, coming off the Red Fork River. It gave them enough cover to near the small camp.

"There are only four." He whispered in Arya's ear. She nodded in agreement as her eyes darted to each man. She still amazed him the way she was able to find a man's weak spot from yards away. The training she went through at Braavos must have helped her develop that skill.

Arya was stonehearted now. He was afraid there was nothing left inside her. No feeling, no love. Losing your whole family will do that, he supposed. She did have her Uncle Brynden, but she said she had no attachment since she had never met him until they came to the Riverlands.

They had been living in the Riverlands being rangers for her uncle for many weeks now. Before that, he and Arya had run into each other at Acorn Hall. It was a rough reunion considering she still hadn't forgiven him for joining the Brotherhood without Banners. He didn't tell her he had teamed up with the search party her mother sent for her and her sister. He didn't know why he never told her. Possibly because he didn't want her to think she needed saving. Arya hated when people would treat her like a helpless lady. She definitely never acted like one.

When they finally recognized each other, there was a lot of punching and name calling involved but she eventually gave in and showed her relief. It was only brief because she didn't want to be weak; not only for a moment. She was good at that. Never showing her feelings. Her true feelings. She could act like she was happy when she was around her uncle or share a few laughs with the men at Riverrun but he knew the only feeling she had now was anger. It was typical for Arya to let her anger flash but that's all there was. He used to be able to make her smile, back when she was only a girl. But now when she smiled, it was spiteful and cruel.

He looked at her, and the smile was there. She spotted the sigil on their coats, two towers; the Freys. She crept forward and seemed to completely forget he was there. He knew why.

She stalked forward until she was right behind the first man. He readied himself to jump into action once she struck. The men suddenly turned and ran towards them before he even knew what was happening. He didn't see her move, yet the man was on the ground, dead. This occurrence was normal when they went scouting. Her hands were so deadly quick her victims never saw it coming.

He ran forward and smashed into the first man with his body. That was one thing he had on Arya. Her body was useless without her hands or sword. He stabbed the second man through the chest, right between the two blue towers. He saw Arya circling the last man, low in her water dance form. She dodged his swing and brought her sword up between his ribs. He could see the tip of her sword peeking through his left shoulder, right above his heart.

"Aren't you going to kill him?" she asked, annoyed. He turned and saw the man he bowled over. He was unconscious and possibly fashioning a few broken bones.

"We'll take him back to be questioned. There shouldn't be any Freys this close to the fork." He answered, aware of her hateful glare burning into the man. "C'mon, you can kill him later." He bent to pick up the limp figure, when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

"Gendry!" Arya yelled and sprinted forward. He looked up to see a small, robed man hobbling towards him. He dropped the soldier and reached for his sword. He saw a flash and the man was lying on the ground.

"Arya, I could've taken care of it myself." He sighed. She stood above the man and turned her head.

"How did we miss him?" She sounded wary and confused. Was there disappointment behind her voice?

"It's fine. He was just hiding and we didn't see him." He continued to pick up the Frey as she turned to face him. He looked at her and her face was screwed up in concentration.

"He could have killed you." She whispered. He saw red on her shirt, just below her breast and thought it was blood from an earlier foe. But it began to spread across her shirt.

"Arya! You're bleeding!" He dropped the man once more and walked toward her.

She looked down and grumbled, "It's only a cut." She touched the spot and looked at her fingers. She lifted her eyes to his and winced. He saw her knees buckle and then she was lying in the dirt in front of her.

"Arya!" He dashed forward and knelt beside her. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her onto her back. She was trembling and staring with wide eyes at him. They were filled with panic and fear. The cut was very small, like she said and wouldn't cause a reaction like this. "Arya, what's wrong?"

"Something isn't right. The cut-." Her words were shortened as she gasped and sunk her fingers into the dirt beside her. Her breath came fast and short. Her back arched as she struggled to breath.

He didn't know what to do. He looked around trying to think of something. Then his eyes met the unseeing eyes of the dead man she had slain moments ago. There was a glimmer of emerald that caught his attention as he looked back at Arya. It was a dagger, a few inches from the old man's fingers. A smear of ruby shone brightly against the silver of the blade. He grabbed it and carefully shoved it into his belt.

"Help-." She choked. He scooped her up into his arms and ran for the horses. She was grabbing at his collar, struggling to keep her head from draping over his arm.

"No, Arya. Stay with me." He demanded, holding her closer. _She can't die. Not like this._

"Gendry-."

He looked down at her, not slowing as he made his way to their horses. Her face was twisted in pain and he could barely stand to look at her. Tears were stinging in his eyes.

"I-I-," she was gasping for air again. He shook his head, willing her to stop talking and save her breath.

"No, I'm going to save you." But as soon as those words left his mouth, so did her's. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp. He slowed, shaking his head. _No, you can't be dead._ _You're Arya. You aren't supposed to die like this._ As he dropped to his knees, he looked at her pale, dirty face. Her hair blew over it like the wind was telling him she was gone. He caught the strands in between his fingers and pulled it back behind her ear, refusing to believe it.

She was his best friend, the only friend he ever had. He never even made friends in Fleabottom. His mother always had him working, and when she died, Tobho kept him busy morning to night. He had no one now. The despair from that thought tightened his chest. He pulled her closer, her cold hands brushing his neck. He shivered and felt the hole in his heart grow ever deeper. The reality of what just happened was sinking in and he felt his throat close.


	2. Chapter 2

"Arya." He whispered as the tears fell. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. _You were all I had. I found you and then I lost you. It's all my fault._

He felt something light on his cheek. Just a slight brush. He lifted his head and glanced at her dark eyelashes, knowing the exact color of her eyes without her opening them. Under the dirt on her skin, he could see freckles. Just little speckles across her sharp, angular nose. And then her lips-. Did he just feel a whisper of breath leave her mouth? He gasped and leaned closer, his nose almost touching hers. And there it was again. A sweet sigh left her lips and glided over his mouth. Something in his stomach clenched. He was so close to her, closer than he had ever been. He stared at her slightly parted lips and felt another warm breath waft across his face.

"Arya?" He looked at her mouth and placed his palm on her face. "Can you hear me?" He searched for any sign of her reacting. It was like she was asleep. A wave of relief went over him as he realized that she wasn't dead. But for how long? He cradled her in his arms again as he ran the rest of the way to their horses. He sat her up on top of his and tied hers to his saddle. He climbed up behind her and wrapped his arm around her middle. They took off galloping towards the Tully castle. Her head whipped around violently so he held her tighter against his chest hoping it would help. She seemed so small, crushed against him. He could feel the curve of her hips hug his arm and hand. He swallowed hard trying to ignore the femininity he never knew she had.

He rode up to the gate and they lowered it allowing them to gallop into the square. They must have seen him coming because Brynden Tully was there to take hold of his reins as he slid off with Arya. "Get the maester." He demanded shakily. He didn't realize he was panicking until he heard his voice.

"What happened? Is she okay? Who did this?" Lord Tully commanded as his eyes searched over her body. He jogged next to Gendry as they climbed the tower to Maester Vyman's chambers. There were other men watching them but not pursuing. They looked on with worried eyes but they knew their presence wouldn't make a difference. Arya's body remained limp in his arms as he hurried up the stairs.

"I will explain what happened when the maester is there as well." He replied, hoping he would cease the questioning. He didn't want the Blackfish to kill him before he could get Arya to the maester.

They burst through the doorway and the old man was standing over his desk mixing mysterious liquids. He looked up and quickly pointed at the cot up against the wall. Gendry didn't think he knew it was the Lord of Riverrun's niece he was carrying until the Blackfish barked, "Get over here old man! It's Arya!" The man jumped and scurried to the cot.

His arms felt empty and his heart helpless as he laid her gently on the mattress. Her tiny body looked so fragile and her face void of life. The maester touched her forehead and whispered something and then louder, "What happened?"

Gendry quickly explained that they found Freys and killed them. After the retelling of the old man who induced the poison on Arya, he revealed the knife. Maester Vyman took it carefully and brought the blade up to his eyes.

"Is she alive? What's happening?" Lord Tully asked forcefully. He took Arya's hand and knelt beside her.

"She's alive but only just." Vyman replied.

"Her breathing is barely there. I thought she had died-," He stopped before his feelings rose to the surface again. The feeling he had before when he believed she was dead was unbearable. He couldn't let himself feel that way again.

"Her blood is moving slowly enough, it's like she's dead but her heart is still working. However, everything in her body has stopped and will remain so until we have an antidote." He stared at the blade again. "There are only two poisons that would cause her body to shut down. I'm hoping it's one and not the other." He whispered the last part to himself. It made Gendry uneasy to hear the fear in his voice. He silently hoped the same thing.

"Where are we going to get the antidote? Do you have it?" The Blackfish rubbed Arya's hand anxiously. Gendry knew he felt as helpless as he did. He had lost almost his whole family to the Freys. Gendry had heard that Brynden's inheritance to Riverrun was unwanted and he preferred a life of serving rather than ruling. He was a quiet, but kind man. Due to his near lifetime service as a knight, many of his people looked up to him and believed he would make a great leader. He proved his loyalty and duty to his house by driving the Freys away from the Red Fork. The people celebrated and crowned the Blackfish, Lord of Riverrun. Many spoke of his fondness for his niece, Catelyn, Arya's mother. He would speak of her regularly, like she was still alive. Gendry knew it upset Arya but she never said a word. He believed Brynden was trying to comfort her, when really all Arya wanted was to forget.

"I need to examine the poison and determine whether it is the product of a flower or manticore venom. She will hold up fine until then. There isn't anything we can do." He shuffled away towards the desk he was experimenting at when they first came in. Gendry saw the blade disappear into a clouded jar and the maester turned back towards them. "Let's get her comfortable. She will be staying there awhile."

The Blackfish cleared his throat and stood, setting Arya's hand down softly, "I'll get a serving girl to change her." His expression didn't give anything away. He wasn't a man of many words so his withdrawal from the room didn't take Gendry by surprise. The maester was hunched over his desk and it was just Arya and Gendry left. It was like everyone else forgot his presence. It was normal for everyone to ignore him, especially when Arya was in the same room. He wasn't anyone special to pay attention to anyway.

Gendry walked to Arya's bed and knelt. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth slightly parted. He wanted her to just wake up. It didn't matter if she woke up angry and punched him. He would let her punch him a thousand times if she would open her eyes. Her hand laid limp beside her. His fingers brushed her knuckles and slipped in between hers to her palm. The skin he touched was cold and pale against his forge-burned hide. He moved closer, feeling the need to warm her but instead took the wool blanket from the end of the bed and pulled it over her body. He's never had to protect her from anything other than herself. It was strange to see her weak for the first time, after all the years he's known her. He wondered if anyone had seen her unable to protect herself, since she left King's Landing. Her temper and sword skills have kept her safe. He ran his finger across her palm and could swear there was an indent where the hilt of her sword fit. He spread her hand out across his and rubbed the dirt and dry blood from her knuckles. Her hand was so small and delicate he thought, as he brushed his thumb over her skin.

He laughed to himself. Delicate was the last word he would ever use to describe Arya, yet here she was, lying on a cot in a maester's chambers, reflecting the very definition of delicate. He smiled thinking of the reaction she would definitely have if she knew what he was thinking. Then the smile faded and he thought of how he may never hear her angry voice or see her eyes light up with the passion of her fury.

"I'm sorry, Arya. This is my fault and I'm going to make it right." He promised. He heard the door open and he instantly dropped her hand and stood. It was an older woman with clothes draped over her arm. She glared at him accusingly and rushed passed him to Arya. This was the woman Arya told him about. She always tried making her wear dresses and bathing twice a day. Her Uncle Brynden allowed her to wear what she wished to Arya's relief.

The woman shuffled around Arya removing her tunic and breeches until she was down to her smallclothes. She began to lift her undershirt over her head when Gendry spotted the cut across her ribs. He quickly turned away when the base of her breast appeared as the cotton lifted from her body.

The serving woman must have noticed his sudden movement and barked, "What are you doing, lurking in that corner boy? Get out!"

"Yes, ma'am." He said, sprinting from the room. _Gods, Arya was right about her_. He stood out in the hallway and spotted the Blackfish walking toward him. He was an older man, well into his 60's. He walked slowly but purposefully, stopping in front of Gendry.

"Thank you for taking care of Arya. You know her better than me and I'm her own uncle." He stopped and frowned, "You do well in the forge. I've never seen you use a sword but Arya says you're decent," he paused, grinning, "Well, in her own way." The Blackfish chuckled and put his hand on his shoulder, "I know she has been through a lot, we all have, but I think she cherishes you more than anyone. I want you to know that you are welcome here. You have been there with her when no one else could. I appreciate that and-," He was interrupted as the door opened and the serving woman stepped out.

"I told you that she was going to get herself hurt someday. You should have let me make her a proper lady. She shouldn't be out with men, doing men's work." She glared at Gendry.

"I know, but I can't restrain her when she is so good with a sword. It's her passion and I won't deny her." Lord Tully replied gruffly. Gendry admired his insight and bravery to stand up to this woman. She was almost as vicious as Arya.

She huffed and stormed off leaving them at the open door. Gendry was still taken aback by Lord Tully's statements from before. He knew the Lord of Riverrun was thankful to him for bringing her there, but he didn't realize how grateful. He thought the Blackfish had no interest in him and would throw him out the first chance he got. It was a relief to know he could live a life here if Arya wasn't in the picture.

"Ser, thank you for what you said before. Arya is the closest person I have in my life. But I-I-I'm sorry-," The Blackfish raised his hand to stop him.

"Don't be sorry for how foolish Arya can be. I have no doubt it wasn't your fault and her bravery – or stubbornness – whichever you prefer, got her poisoned." He sighed and smiled weakly. Gendry still blamed himself whether that belief was turned down or not.

Brynden waved him into the room and followed after him. Gendry waited for him to go to Arya but he went and spoke to Maester Vyman. He cautiously walked to Arya and stopped a few feet away. She was under the blanket except for her arms. They lay on top of the blanket on either side of her. They were bare because the gown the woman put her in was sleeveless. Her hair was strewn across the pillow in a wavy mess. She reminded him of the song Tom Sevenstrings sang at Acorn Hall.

 _My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down_

 _I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown._

 _For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord._

 _I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword._

He blushed to think of the words. Arya would think he was such an idiot. He knew she hated love songs and thought they were stupid. He enjoyed them but knew they were just stories. For some reason he felt his heart drop slightly.

He walked closer to the bed and thought she looked paler than before. He reached for her hand but drew back quickly when Maester Vyman and Brynden approached. He stepped back so as not to be noticed.

"Luckily it was the flower, a form of Aconitum. It is also known as Wolf's Bane." He paused and glanced at Arya, "I don't have the antidote." Gendry felt his heart drop to his feet.

"You don't have it? How will we save her?" The Blackfish asked loudly. It was obvious he was trying to remain calm but his mask was crumbling.

"I don't know that we can, ser. I-,"

Lord Tully slammed his hand against the wall. "There _has_ to be a way. We can't let her die." He held on to the wall and stared at the floor.

"The only way to save her is to find the foil plant. The only place there is a patch of this flower is by High Heart."

Gendry's mind lurched in recognition. "I know where that is. I've been there."

"Why did you say we couldn't save her when we obviously can?" Brynden said angrily. "It's only three days ride from here." Gendry's heart swelled with hope.

"I said we can't because she doesn't have that much time. She will last five days at the most. Her whole body is shut down, meaning we can't get her to consume food or water. Her internal poisons will kill her before she can even starve or die from dehydration." The maester stared pitifully at Arya. Gendry was suddenly furious with him. He could have told them sooner and they could have left. They could have saved her. He felt like Arya, ready to punch whoever made his rage rise.

Gendry took a deep, determined breath, "We have to try. I'll go." Both of the men looked at him in surprise. It was Brynden who spoke first.

"You're right. But I will send a unit of soldiers to retrieve this flower."

Gendry felt his hands close into fists. He took a deep breath, "Ser, please let me go. I can travel faster by myself and I won't attract as much attention." He stared into Brynden Tully's deep blue eyes, "I won't let you down." He looked at Arya and whispered, "I won't let _her_ down."

He hoped his plead worked because he had nothing left to convince him with. He continued to look at Arya's vacant face, unable to meet the Lord of Riverrun's gaze.

"Get on with it then." The Blackfish replied.


	3. Chapter 3

As the mare's hooves beat into the damp ground, Gendry was trying to formulate an image of the flower he needed to retrieve.

 _"The flower itself is purple with a tall yellow stamen. You will find it where you find water, most likely a stream of some sort." The old maester searched solemnly but swiftly. Or as swift as an old man with decrepit, barely functional fingers could search, taking books off the shelf and dropping them to the floor as he swore in defeat._

 _Gendry watched him in a strange state of impatience and timid quiet. Finally, Maester Vyman turned, fully facing Gendry as he finished the description, "You are not picking the flower, though. I need the berries that will be with the plant. Take care not to crush them as I need to extract a specific chemical. It is very tedious because of its poisonous properties."_

 _"Poisonous?" Gendry replied in disbelief. Had the old man gone senile?_

 _Maester Vyman glared, "If you want to save her, follow my directions. I can't find a text containing a drawing but I trust you will remember the traits I provided. You are looking for the berries of Deadly Nightshade." Gendry's expression must have given away his shock, because the elder reached up and patted his shoulder, ending their conversation, "Quickly now, on your toes."_

Gendry was still trying to accept that he was fetching one of the most commonly used poisons in Westeros to not kill someone, but save someone. And that someone being Arya Stark. He shook his head, urging the wind to blow his hair in every direction.

Leaves tore from branches as the chestnut mare shot passed; there was no wonder she was the fastest horse in Riverrun. Lord Tully prepared her for Gendry to take on his journey, boosting his confidence of success. The maester still expressed his doubt in him returning with the antidote in time to save Arya, but the Blackfish shared Gendry's determination. He supposed it was typical of a maester to expect failure in a situation as desperate as this and when there was no readily available cure.

They traveled many leagues before Gendry allowed the animal to slow, still encouraging a quick pace. When he began the trip it was late morning, giving him the afternoon to gain a lot of ground. As he rode, he thought through his plan. He knew the general layout of High Heart, remembering when he last visited with the Brotherhood Without Banners. It was a tall hill overlooking the Riverlands with a circle of weirwood stumps. _There are thirty-one._ He and Arya had walked around the perimeter of the mysterious formation, counting the remaining wood of the once massive trees. He wanted to believe that was a much simpler time to the present, as it should have been for their young age, but their situation then, was as displacing as it was now.

He wrung his mind for evidence of a stream or water source that might lead him to the berries, but he didn't recall. The party he was with only utilized the tall hill and didn't explore much more beyond that. Even Arya remained in the area, but that may have been due to the strict hostage watch she was under. At that time, if they hadn't been captured by the Brotherhood, Arya would have dragged him all over the North searching for Winterfell. Where would they be now if they found it? Would Arya have stopped all of the terrible things from happening to her family? Or would she have been killed?

A rain drop splashed on to his cheek signaling his journey's path had entered a storm. His thoughts were interrupted as the rain became more steady, soaking his stead and wool cloak. He was impressed with the horse's stamina as they pressed onward into the wet evening. They seldom stopped throughout the venture into the soaked Riverlands. And they even more rarely crossed paths with another living creature. Gendry worried in the beginning whether other travelers would slow their pace but encounters were so far, unlikely. However, the Brotherhood crossed his mind and their proximity to High Heart. That was an event he would have to anticipate.

The first night, Gendry and his traveling companion rested under the cover of a great oak tree. He relieved the exhausted horse of the saddle and light baggage, using it as a damp pillow propped against the trunk. The animal ate ravenously at the grain he offered, making him envious. It was hard to see with the darkness of late night and the moon being smothered by the heavy layers of clouds. After fumbling through the side bags in search of sustenance, he tore at the dense bread and what he assumed was cheese. The taste of the food was lost as he began thinking about Arya again.

The memory of her writhing in his arms as she gasped for air, begging for relief, had him sighing with guilt and worry. He put what was left of the bread and cheese away, his appetite now gone. As he settled into the hard ground and breathed in the musty smell of wet leather, he whispered a silent prayer to the new and old gods, and also to Arya. Though, Gendry knew it would take more than prayers to wake her.

When he woke the next morning, the sky was almost as he had left it when he fell asleep. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was; the birds were even oppressed by the weather, their morning songs stolen. He began his trek along the Red Fork with the mare pressing on diligently beneath him and a heavy sprinkle continued its punishment on them.

As High Heart became nearer, a deep, aching headache spread, starting at the nape of his neck and branching through to poke at the back of his eyes. The force of each hoof finding contact with the ground, seemed to cause the pain to dig its way further into his skull. Gendry rubbed the back of his neck assuming his sleeping position caused it to be the source but soon, breathing with his nose wasn't an option. _Damn, one day in and I'm catching a cold._

Ignoring his worsening chill, he planned for when he would arrive. They would reach High Heart well into the night and he would have to wait to begin his search by first light. _Yes, begin my search for the poisoned remedy._ He struggled to push the ironic thought away.

The day stretched on, his steed continued relentlessly, and the ache advanced on his body. He was realizing the thickness of the trees were dissipating and his trail was becoming more open; More exposure to strangers. Gendry pulled his damp cloak closer and tugged his hood, draping near his eyes. The path to their destination shortened as darkness pressed in.

Not only did he know it was time to rest by the horse's constant stumbling and faltering at the occasional twig, but the unpleasant throbbing of his head, throat, chest, and every other limb encouraged a past due respite. Almost as soon as the poor animal slowed to a stop, he lithely leapt from the stirrups, despite his body's protest, and assisted in her shaky descend to the ground. The grass rustled around her hooves that moved to a more comfortable position. He patted her strained neck and whispered gruffly, "That'll do girl. We'll rest for a while." As if the mare understood his words, she sighed long and heavy, signaling the beginning of her recovery.

He debated leaving the saddle and bags, and following his companion's lead to lie on the sympathetic ground. But, he knew her labored breathing would be easier once the weight of his traveling equipment was relieved. After all, she did the majority of the work to get here.

Once he gave his partner another grateful pat, he set to removing her baggage. It was too dark to see the sores on her back but he was sure of their presence after such a ride. He prayed for the gods to have mercy on such an obedient creature and not make her a sacrifice to the saving of Arya. The sound of each piece of gear thumping to the ground put his nerves on end. For some reason, this particular area made him uneasy. Previous stopping points didn't have this effect.

After rolling the wool spun belt that held the saddle on the horse's back around his hand, he stopped to look up. There was a feeling of someone watching and he didn't like it. It didn't matter how hard he strained his eyes, they couldn't penetrate the night. There was a crunching sound from behind a cluster of bushes. Without panicking and causing a whole raucous, he moved as slowly as his stiff limbs allowed, crouching to set the saddle belt on the ground and unsheathe his dagger. The metal rubbed against its holder, being the only noise since the unexplained movement.

There was another rustle as he readied to leap from the ground at the lurker, but as the threat emerged, shock held back his hand. An eerie glow emanated from her white hair and her movements should have been more laborious for her tiny, old body, but the most unsettling was her voice.

She spoke sadly with a slight tinge of accusation, "Why have you run this poor animal to the point of oozing sores and bloody hooves? She never asked for this fate. She never asked for your abuse." The clarity in her words sounded as if she was speaking of herself and not the mare she rested a shriveled hand on. Gendry couldn't find a response for her blunt comments so he stood quietly, deciding this ancient woman wasn't a threat. He did not put away the dagger, however.

"No… no… I know you," She whispered hoarsely, almost to herself, "it is your duty to risk lives for another." The pale strands hid her face from him. "But you don't think, no…" Darkness should have dimmed her eyes but they pierced it like an arrow through cotton, their redness shrouding him in an unearthly chill. "You are risking more lives than an animal's."

She turned from the horse and hobbled toward him. He was still captured by her eyes, like a fish being reeled in to his unfortunate demise. Her little steps ceased about a foot from him, and he needed to crane his neck to look down at her short stature.

"You are big, but not strong." She said simply, a skin-raising cackle following her insult.

He found his voice at last, "You don't know me. And you can barely see me in this darkness."

She laughed again, but with more sarcasm, "Heh! Darkness brings forth secrets that cannot be seen in the light! And I am an old woman, I can see in the light about as well as I can in the dark!"

The change in tone relieved his tense muscles and impatience crept through his veins. "Why are you here? If you're just going to insult me and make me feel bad about my horse, then you can leave."

His eyes must have been adjusting to the dark because he watched her moving her lips upward as if she was pouting. "Why must everyone be so unkind to such a fragile old woman? The men you came with before treated me the same, yet they asked for words that would aid in their quest. But I didn't satisfy them with words they wanted to hear, no. That would be too generous for thieves and murderers." She sighed dramatically, leaning harder on the twisted cane he hadn't noticed, "Too kind, I am. All they gave me in return was a song, though it was lovely…" Her sharp red globes disappeared as she closed her eyes and began to hum a tune. The melody was somewhat familiar but it was not very well represented in her off-key approach.

Though, her song wasn't what caught his attention. He asked, "Do you mean the Brotherhood Without Banners?"

He could sense the irritation in her response as if she was angry with him for interrupting her music, "Brotherhood Without Banners? They were a bunch of lost pups with no common goal. Their loyalty lay with no one, not even themselves." As the woman continued to grumble to herself, she spoke up with a final thought, "Men without any straight ambition are more hopeless than this horse."

The constant fussing the elderly woman spouted made Gendry want to be rid of her more and more. But when she spoke again, her voice finally reflected her age and he almost wanted to pat her trembling hands, "But that girl you were escorting… her goals were clear and cruel," her body hunched further into herself, "and she was willing to forget it all… all that she loved about herself…" a dry sob broke her words apart, "it is all forgotten now…" A breeze plucked at the ends of her knee-length hair and ruby orbs found his eyes again, but now they were pleading, "Only what is forgotten can save her," her little cane was all that kept her from tumbling as she stumbled forward to him, "Her body holds the secrets of many… but that is not what needs remembering, no... Kindness, sympathy… all of her memories are held in that bloody, mangled _thing_ ," the sadness on the ancient matron's tongue turned sour and spiteful, "It was ripped to pieces by beasts with teeth and talons and spike! But it is not only her, no, but all who pray and worship and sin…"

Gendry stood inches from the seething wretch, her anger soaking through his skin to scratch at his bones. Her words confused him but he was sure it was Arya she was cursing about. He wondered what her reaction would be if he told her _his_ objective. She wasn't much of a threat. The only thing that scared him were her eyes…

"Arya Stark. I am here to find an antidote to save her life." Once again, their eyes met. Though, she had no expression and that is what deepened his fear.

"This name is only one of many. Many lives she has lived and died. This is just another she will die as…" She turned her swaddled back and muttered, "There is no antidote for remembering." And limped away, dry leaves crunching in her path. Once she made her way around a nearby tree, the leaves' ceased their signal as if she took flight once she was out of sight.

A chilly gust of wind took his cloak and whipped it away to gain access to his unprotected body. He turned abruptly and coughed into his shoulder. It was wet and slightly rattled. _That is enough excitement for tonight._ A few shivers and bites of bread later, he was lying adjacent to his equestrian comrade, cursing the incessant trickle of rain that soaked the ground around him. His meeting with the strange senior kept his mind awake. Gendry thought of Arya and how any of what was said about her applied. Why did she keep saying how Arya had "forgotten"? And what in seven hells did she mean by living many lives? Was the lady a seer? Had she seen Arya's past lives, if that was a plausible concept? He almost wished for her to hobble back so he could wring some answers out of her and he could sleep. Despite his running mind, the illness plaguing his body pushed him to unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Gendry would have thought his meeting with the crooked old woman would have haunted his dreams, but his body was so busy sleeping, it was like it forgot to dream. But, he didn't wake peacefully as one should without dreams, he woke with a cold _drip, drip, drip,_ in the middle of his forehead, its rain water freezing an icy path through his hair all along his scalp. His cloak had been wrapped around him when he fell asleep the night before, though when he woke, it was lying heavily, soaked into the ground.

He grunted with the effort of sitting up. Everything seemed to groan in reply, all of his muscles were either bunched and tight from the firmness of the ground, or sore and strained from the sickness infecting them. As he stood shivering and sniffling, he noticed the mare was up grazing on some clovers near the tree the ancient nymph disappeared behind.

"Good to know one of us is feeling better," he whispered, but was then suddenly taken aback by his rough voice. His throat felt swollen and dry, and after water, felt as if it had absorbed the water and became more inflamed. _Seriously, the gods couldn't have given me better fortune? They must really hate me. Or Arya._

The thought of Arya jump started his brain and ignited the guilt once again. Gendry kicked himself for wasting time sleeping when he should have been searching for the flower. He quickly took the horse's reins and wrapped them around a nearby branch. According to his calculations, he should be in the general vicinity of High Heart. His feet began at a quick pace pointed in the direction of the tall hill he was beginning to spot through the scattered trees. Light was scarce with clouds still depressing the environment around him. Despite that fact, he could still find the beauty in the eerie area, tall grass shined almost gold in the wide expanse of the Riverlands. This was a different type of land compared to the rocky, wet prairie he had been inhabiting at Riverrun. The living things must have disliked the rain as the plants and flowers reflected the type to thrive in drier conditions. Their stems were thinner, more delicate than the meaty blades he observed the horses grazing on during his and Arya's scouting. It was odd to think two drastically different types of lands could be only a few days apart.

As he waded through the rustling stock, he scanned the edges of the plain for any sign of running water. He even stopped several times to listen for even a trickle, but all he could hear were slender flowers flitting against neighboring grasses and his blood pounding in his ears. He stomped around the base of the notorious hill, knowing the water couldn't be found there. And besides, this wasn't a lovely little trip to marvel at its curious structure and purpose, this was life or death; and time was moving quickly.

Minutes, hours went by as he trudged in and out of trees hunting desperately for any sign of water. It didn't help that his eyes were foggy and his mind slowly losing its sharpness, but his determination for saving Arya kept him alert. So alert, that faint voices punctured the stuffiness of his eardrum. He leapt behind a tree, finding that he had wandered deep into one of the array of timber to the south of High Heart.

"What do you think yer doing? Can't ya even fill a basin right?" The man's exasperated tone easily reached Gendry. There were other noises but he supposed they weren't speaking anything of importance. He was listening hard, waiting for another indication that he had just found water. There was no more sound coming from that particular spot so he silently crept from one tree to the next getting nearer to the source. He assumed there were two people, but he didn't even know where they were. His mind was racing, painfully aware of how much time he was taking, yelling urgently for him to hurry.

Gendry strengthened his grip on the bark of the tree, its ridges catching under his nails, and his fingers tightened around the handle of his sword at his hip. He took a deep breath and glanced from around the trunk to see a small dip in the earth, water leaking from its mouth. _"This is where someone could make a well,"_ he thought to himself. He had never seen the location of a well before it was actually installed, but he guessed it was a natural aquifer.

" _Hey!"_ the man's voice was harsh and loud, its suddenness almost toppling Gendry over from his startled reaction. Gendry recovered and ducked behind his tree again, waiting. His sword was creeping out of its scabbard little by little, preparing for a fight. But it never came, and the yelling continued further away. It continued to dissipate until he heard nothing but bubbling from the hole in the ground. He tried not to think about the voice too much, as it very slightly sounded like Lem Lemoncloak. The Brotherhood was the last thing he needed to come in between him and saving Arya.

He peeked around the tree once again, deciding it was clear. As he shuffled out, he immediately began seeking the purple flower. There was a thick amount of vegetation suffocating the watery indent. Blue and yellow flowers with pale orange centers, pink flowers that spiraled about like they were looking for their soulmate, and tiny white flowers that looked like they grew for the purpose of high ladies admiring them; but no purple petals could be seen. The fear of Arya dying was creating an irrational sense of panic deep in his belly.

Gendry rummaged through the mess of color using his arms and hands and feet to separate the knotted mess. Stems snapped and petals released from the round core they worked so hard to provide for, but the desired plant was nowhere to be found. He found himself having to stop and support his weight on a tree as a coughing fit shook his body. The illness left material in his lungs to rattle threateningly. _I have to find it before I run out of time, myself._

Straightening from the kind tree, he walked through the wrecked halo of blossoms regretting his surge of fear. He hadn't actually observed his original target so when he became near, the shallow hollow greeted him with happy bubbling. The water flowed over pale stones that nestled comfortably around the premature well. Stepping closer revealed the water would just sink in to the ground around it, making the trek to the clear puddle difficult. He spotted the footprints of the most recent visitors; two pairs, one large and the other smaller. The smaller set barely left their mark, meaning they must have belonged to a child. The nearer he became, the further his feet were swallowed into the mud. He couldn't imagine the natural water source receiving much attention with all the moss and grass blanketing his path. The two people before must have just stumbled upon it.

As he approached, he noticed a small gleam between the yellow rocks. At first glance, he assumed the water was just winking in the sunlight, but it was a dimmer glint. His feet made sloppy noises as he worked his way through the muck to get a closer look. He kneeled on an adjacent rock and reached toward the strange object. He wiggled his fingers in the gap and they brushed a smooth, cold object. At first, he was sure it was a blade he was going to slice his fingers on, but it was soft and wet after prodding it lightly. He drew back and stared at the contrasting color coating his fingertips. It was a sickly color, almost brown but also purple if basked in the light. He screwed up his face and trudged to the other side of the rock. The gasp he took in triggered a wet cough as he hunched over to find a mauve petal waving at him. When he stooped for a closer look, he wanted to congratulate the flower on its expert hiding place. The plant had rooted in the groove between two stones that happened to gather a livable amount of soil, just for the flower's home. A tall yellow tower stood proudly among the pretty, curly lavender petals as if it was a king surrounded by his seductive concubines. His fingers twitched toward them but he remembered Maester Vyman's words: " _I need the berries that will be with the plant."_

Gendry anxiously probed the little cave with his eyes and remembered the gross substance on his fingers. With his hands shaking meagerly, he lifted the rock concealing one side of the antidote and found a small bundle of round fruits. They were all glaring madly at him as if declaring war for the one berry crushed on its side, its life's blood smeared on his skin. He was a little taken aback by how menacing their pure black flesh shone at him. Patting his pockets and clothes, he realized he didn't come with a means to protect them. There wasn't time to dawdle about for a container, so he ripped at his cotton shirt, making certain there was enough to wrap them securely. Also, remembering how easily the last berry gave in to his finger's pressure made him more gentle when he gripped the fruit and pulled until they let go of the vine supporting them. He swiftly put them into the makeshift pocket and tucked it all around like they were a child in a bed.

Cradling them in his hands, he ran as fast as he could back to his steed. He looked up to see the sun high in the sky signaling midday. _I need to get back as soon as possible._ Only after a few minutes of sprinting, his chest was tightening and wheezing accompanied his heavy breathing. _I need to hold on until I'm back at Riverrun. There isn't time for me to be sick._

Bursting through the brush and trees to meet his horse about made him lose her as she reared knocking her reigns free. He grasped the leather straps and calmed her, speaking low and reassuringly. After a few moments he was able to gently place the package for Arya at the base of the tree and load up the mare. Gendry tried the best he could to ignore the sores he covered with the saddle and bags. They weren't quite oozing with infection yet but he was sure that was to come by the time they reached their home again. He took out his food and tossed it to the ground as he frantically tried to make a safe resting area for the berries. After putting them at the bottom of the bag, he tore his loaf of bread apart with his teeth and build a small fortress of protection. He wanted to hold them to assure their safety, but he knew he could easily crush them with his fingers when riding.

He prayed to the old gods and new as he swung a leg up on to the quick-footed mare, his disquiet possessing her. They galloped off into a swirl of cloak and earth. Their path had now reversed and they were returning the way they came. Arya's quietly sleeping face flashed in Gendry's mind as he ducked low to allow the wind to bend around him efficiently. _We won't stop until we get there._ He reached out to pat the hard working hide of his horse. _Forgive me, but there are more important lives than our own._ Taking a deep motivated breath in, he turned his head to relinquish it with a cough violent enough to raise some of the phlegm residing in his lungs. He coughed more, but tasted metal, like he had licked a sword and barely cut his tongue. He spit in the breeze and watched crimson paint the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

After being poisoned and letting herself be cut by the fear of death, there was nothing but darkness. She felt tired but mostly disappointed with the fact that she died by the hand of a craven. And she died without much dignity either. Though, that didn't seem to bother her as much as Gendry's response to her dramatic death. There wasn't much to remember since everything happened so quickly, but she definitely remembered Gendry's quick action in his attempt to save her. As he scooped her into his arms and dashed for the horses, he spoke words of reassurance. Though, it was hard to remember his effort when all she could hear was her suffocated gasping.

It didn't make sense for Gendry to be so disturbed by her death when he was so willing to leave her for the Brotherhood. When it happened, she was upset that her friend abandoned her and left her to face the reality of the world on her own. Now, she was older and experienced in the nature of people and their habits of leaving, whether through lack of loyalty or death. Never becoming close enough to others to feel the unforgiving thread of connection, was something she was always aware of in the presence of others. Her Uncle Brynden was slowly knitting a bond with her and as much as she tried to unravel it, it knotted and became tighter. It wasn't something she wanted, nor was it something she could avoid. The only way of ending their attachment was to cut it. She supposed her death would do the trick.

Though, after thinking about her uncle and Gendry she was beginning to feel warm again. The coldness she felt from being in the dark for so long was fading. Her finger tips tingled and slowly made its way up her arm and to her chest. It crept slowly at first but then it blazed like wildfire, touching every inch of her skin. The sudden shock woke her and she felt everything and heard everything again.

Her gasps were loud in her ears but she had a feeling everything was magnified and she wasn't as loud as her ears led her to believe. Voices poked at her ears insistently, demanding that she respond. The last thing she wanted was to talk with the intense aches her whole body was suffering from. Though, the incessant talking annoyed her enough to force a small reply: "I'm awake." And for some terrible reason, revealing her consciousness was like permission for her body to unveil the agonizing consequences of sleeping for a prolonged length of time. She wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping, or if she was actually dead and this was the unfortunate fate that came with it, but it had to have been enough to make her body rebel against being awake.

She was groaning involuntarily, moving her limbs about, flexing and twisting like a worm out of soil. A cold, damp pressure appeared on her forehead and Maester Vyman spoke with authority, "Be sure she drinks a pitcher of water to start, then alternate with bread and another pitcher. She needs to catch up on a couple days' sustenance. Also, she is going to need to relieve herself, which may be painful." _Is he seriously discussing my pissing and shitting with someone?_

"Are you sure she is going to be alright? She sounds like she's in pain." _Of course, he's telling my uncle about my foreseen chamber pot fate._ The Blackfish sounded irritated with the maester and mostly exasperated with the situation.

The maester replied with an unsettling amount of patience, "Yes, my lord. I'm sure her body is fighting the poison and no doubt, the antidote. She will be at peace soon."

"At peace?" she managed to choke out, almost laughing, "Am I dying?" To be honest, she would gladly accept death at this point in the process of relinquishing the poison. Though, this pain was much different than when she was initially poisoned.

"Arya, you aren't dying. Thanks to the antidote, the poison will be out of you soon." As her uncle reassured her bitter sarcasm, she could already begin to feel the burning dissipate.

"Ah, good." She grunted, already attempting to accelerate recovery with opening her eyes. A piercing headache welcomed her efforts, but she thanked the lack of light in the room for stifling a much worse pain. There were two faces staring down at her anxiously, but with two types of expressions. Maester Vyman seemed much more lax and unconcerned, as he smiled lightly. Her Uncle Brynden on the other hand, was much more afflicted. However, she was beginning to think something else was at hand as she watched his sharp grey eyes dart toward the door tensely.

As she focused on slowing her breaths, she spotted more people in the room. "We may be needing to move her soon, my lord." She watched servants bustle around the room carrying pans of water and linen. _Was all of that for me?_

She hadn't realized her uncle was holding her hand until he squeezed it and nodded, "I know. Let's do it now." Bending down and scooping her out of the bed without warning, caused her to seize his neck in surprise.

"Where are we going? I can walk on my own." She was feeling better and better by the second, though the painful emptiness of her belly was becoming apparent.

He walked through the doorway out into the hall, being careful to maneuver her feet around the frame. The Blackfish set off at a quick pace, passing door upon door. He took a deep breath in, "You are going to need some more rest before you walk, my lady. You've been asleep for almost four days now." He climbed a small set of stairs, "There are servants here that will help you recuperate. I expect there won't be any issues following directions," they entered a new room with a similar layout and he set her on a new bed. The smell of leather lingered on her shoulders and in the cloth of the hideous gown she just realized she was wearing. Her uncle sat quickly beside her, on the very edge of the mattress, but was in a stance to take off running at a moment's notice. The Lord of Riverrun put a hand on her shoulder and held her eyes in a strange, comforting way. He said, "I'm glad to see you well, Arya. Please just do as you are told and stay here. Drink the water, eat the bread, and don't leave this room until the Maester confirms your recovery." His gaze intensified, "Do you understand?"

Something was happening for him to be so forceful and it wasn't the importance of restoring her health. She nodded silently. He stood again, recited the maester's instructions to the waiting servants and dashed from the room. She would do what the maester said, but she wouldn't stay any longer than that.

After experiencing the maester's warning about the chamber pot, she obediently drank the recommended water and scarfed down nearly a whole loaf of bread. The servants revealed a more suitable change of clothes with her own boots to accompany them. By their awkward smiles, she was displaying too much appreciation for providing an escape from the horrid garment her rude servant, Freya subjected her to. As she sat chewing and ripping at the bread the servants never seemed to run out of, she began thinking about her current situation. She had just woke up from a poison induced coma that was caused by a maester from a group of Freys. _Those fucking Freys are going to pay for everything they have done._ The thought of what that particular house had done to contribute to the falling of house Stark, had her clenching her fists and spitefully replaying all the Frey deaths she made happen. She wouldn't forget the suffering they put her through. _The North remembers._

Vengeful acts clouded her mind as she chewed angrily. She was so engrossed she nearly missed the quiet conversation two maids were muttering:

"Did you see him when he come in the gates? He was barely clingin' to that poor mare…"

"Well, he flew all the way to High Heart in a few days! Either he's blessed by the gods or his horse is one."

The two young women giggled then lapsed back to their seriousness. She strained her ears harder.

"Ol' Pete told me the man just collapsed in the mud once the berries he fetched was in the hands of Lord Tully. It's hard to imagine any man doin' somethin' so heroic as saving my life like him."

They both glanced back at her and squeaked like mice caught indulging themselves on a chunk of cheese. The pair hastily continued whatever they were preparing but she wasn't ready to let go whatever everyone was being so suspicious about.

Nonchalantly she took a sip of water and asked, "Who are you talking about?"

The smaller girl, younger than Arya, blurted, "The friend you came here with -," her innocent response was interrupted by a yelp put on by the older girl's pinch and angry chastise.

Her precious water nearly dropped to the girls huddled frantically together as she stalked forward. "Gendry? Where is he? What happened?" she demanded, staring intently into their frightened eyes.

The small one was clutching the other, face buried deep in her bosom. She couldn't expect much out of her but the eldest met her gaze. It wasn't just fear she saw, but pity dampened the deep blue of her irises as well. "M'lady, your friend is well. Please don' fret."

She couldn't keep her panic at bay, especially with a lie as meager as the girl attempted. "Stop lying to me, right now. Your eyes couldn't fool a child. If it is my uncle you're worried about, I'll take care of it. Tell me what happened _now._ " Her voice was hard but fear tore holes in her desired demeanor.

"I-I ain't suppose'ta -," the servant muttered, trembling.

A heavy sigh left her lips, fluttering across the girls' hair. She stood straight, feeling unpleasant aches in her joints and head. Setting the goblet of water on a nearby table, she turned calmly, readying a more charming veneer. "I promise nothing will happen to either of you if you tell me. My uncle will not berate you in any way." She paused and smiled sweetly, "House Stark is of higher authority than his after all." Bile rose in her mouth from more than just her lady-like pretense.

As she struggled to swallow the sickness, the maidservants relaxed into a more dignified stance and obediently spoke, "Lady Arya, your friend is ill. He left and retrieved the antidote for you at High Heart returning in the time it would take to just travel there." The girls exchanged an empathetic look before oppressing their sadness on her.

"Where is he?" she whispered, worried if she opened her mouth too wide, the bread and water would break free.

"We don't -," they started and she cut them off with a hand.

"No, I know." She said, stumbling to her cup and draining the liquid. The girls were at her side, awaiting her collapse, but instead she strode between them and out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as she left the room, she broke into a run. Not long after, she had to slow and brace herself against the wall. _Gods, I feel like I was trampled by all the armies in Westeros._ The throb in her head was overbearing, her ears thundering from the rush of blood. Taking deep breaths didn't make much of a difference but she forced herself into a steady pace toward the maester's chamber using the wall for support. A few steps in and a shout reached her. It didn't take much for her mind to seize in recognition. _Gendry._ Her stomach dropped to her toes. Her legs were still unsteady but she pushed them to a run anyway. As she got closer, the cries became more persistent.

There was a large man standing outside the door, watching as she neared. "Let me in." she breathed through the nausea rising in her throat. She was still not feeling well but she did as Maester Vyman asked. He never said she had to stay bed ridden for a long time; although, that would've been helpful.

"I'm sorry, milady. I have orders to keep you out." The large man said. He didn't even look at her when he spoke.

"I don't care. They're hurting him, aren't they? Let me in, _now_." She could feel her anger mixing with her queasiness causing a burning, acidic feeling in her gut. She prayed to the gods to keep the bile at bay. Losing her recovery meal wouldn't convince the man that she could go see Gendry at all.

"No, milady." He continued to stare forward. Another shout came from the room. Arya stared at the door. It sounded like he was _begging_. What were they doing to him to make him sound like that? She had never seen him hurt enough to complain or need help. She knew he was sick. Really sick. But why would his illness make him beg? Not knowing was killing her. She had to do something to make this brute of a man move.

She lifted her boot to her hand and drew the dagger from the inner lining. The blade brushed her skin and she shivered slightly. A quick scan of the soldier revealed only a sword at his waist.

She moved in one fluid motion, feet gliding forward and blade pressing dangerously to the bob in his throat. He gasped because she knew he didn't see her move. That was her advantage; quick and unexpected. "I trained with the Faceless Men of Braavos. No doubt you have heard how deadly I am. Let me in or I'll-," she paused, "Or I'll give you the _gift_." She said the last part between her teeth to give it a little more menace. She knew she wouldn't give him the gift because they were acquainted, but he didn't need to know that.

He stared down at her and tried to reach his sword but her other hand was already on the pommel. She knew she was much smaller than the broad guard, but her dagger had enough length to make up for it. "Open the door or I'll kill you." She whispered againas another muffled shout touched her ears.

The man glanced at her once more and reached back to the door knob. He turned it and she slipped by him into the room.

The first thing she did was hold her breath. The smell overwhelmed her stomach and she had to swallow the gag threatening to give her position away. It reeked of incense and death. The warmth of the room magnified the stench and her dizzy head. She put her mouth into her elbow and breathed deeply. The muffled air helped clear her head and steel herself against the wretched mix of smells.

She looked across the room to see a cluster of men, one being her Uncle Brynden, and Maester Vyman standing off to the side holding a bowl. She didn't see Gendry but realized he was being blocked from her view by all the men surrounding his bed. Why were there so many men here? They didn't notice her presence so she crept forward quietly in case they intended to make her leave as soon as they saw her. The room was dark so she stayed in the shadows peeking around the men. She saw all of their hands grasping Gendry and suddenly they were all struggling and mumbling to each other.

"Please! I'm fine! I'm getting better, please don't do this." A voice pleaded from the bed. It was a hoarse, panicked rasp that sounded like what she thought a white walker's voice would produce. It didn't sound like Gendry so maybe she wrong about the whole situation. She edged closer only to gasp at the figure on the bed.

His skin shined with a feverish sweat. The paleness of his body almost blinded her and his face – was so broken and scared. She had never seen Gendry like this. It made her stomach twist into knots to see the obvious fear emanating from his glassy, blue eyes. Soon, she realized they were returning her gaze.

"Arya." He gasped, smiling. All of the men's eyes followed his to where she was standing.

"What are you _doing_ to him?" she demanded, striding forward to her Uncle still brandishing the knife. She didn't intend to use it but all the men stepped in front of Lord Tully. Gendry was reaching for her but all she wanted was to get answers so she continued to pursue the Blackfish. "What is happening? Why are you holding him down like this?"

She heard his irritated voice coming from behind the men, "Get out of my way. She isn't going to hurt me." He stepped out, practically swinging the men aside like doors, and grabbed the hand holding the knife. She released her grip gingerly and let him put the blade in his belt. "Arya, how did you get in here?" He steered her away toward the covered window.

"I only threatened him so I could come in. Why did you have him keep me from coming in to see Gendry? What are you doing to him? Why hasn't the maester cured him yet?" All of her questions tumbled from her mouth and she suddenly thought of Gendry and wanted to go to him. He needed to know that no one was going to hurt him.

"Arya, he's sick. We were trying to get leeches on him to get the bad blood out but he won't let us without fighting. And you aren't supposed to be here-,"

"Why won't he let you leech him? Is there another way?"

Her Uncle Brynden sighed, "He's delirious from the fever. He must have had a bad experience with leeches." He looked at Arya and his eyes were sad, "He will die if we can't remove the sickness from his blood." She looked to where Gendry was laying and felt a sense of heavy responsibility. _He's sick because of me._

"Let me talk to him and see if I can convince him." She replied quietly. Her Uncle nodded hesitantly and followed her over to the cot. He looked like a large child in a baby's bed. His shoulders were broader than the width and his feet hung off the end slightly. His eager, feverish eyes followed her as she neared.

She walked to his side and he tried pushing himself up more on the bed. She looked into his glazed blue orbs, unsure of what to say. His eager disposition made her speak as if to a child, "Hi Gendry. How are you feeling?"

He smiled and a red smudge shone brightly against his white teeth, "I'm feeling better -," a cough interrupted him. His head fell back to his pillow with the force of it and he coughed upward, his spine arching. He continued into a violent coughing fit and the maester pushed passed her, holding a cloth to his mouth, pulling on his shoulder until he was sideways. Red splattered from his mouth onto the white linen. A shock of terror shook her bones. Her pulse quickened as she thought of her family; the family that died and left her. And now Gendry was dying because of her. His body shook with more coughing and his breath was becoming short. She wanted to run away. Get away from the sound of his ragged breath. She turned to bolt from the room but collided into someone. She looked up to see her Uncle Brynden. He grabbed her shoulders as if to steady her. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. _No, not here._ She tried pushing passed him but instead he pulled her to his chest. She may have been frozen in surprise but the emotions didn't cease.

"He needs you here. Be strong, girl." He pressed his lips on her forehead and squeezed her. His lips were rough and she could feel his facial hair scratch at her forehead. Her mind thought back to when she was in King's Landing with her father. The warmth of the Blackfish and the tickle of his hair reminded her of him. She nodded cautiously. She didn't hear Gendry coughing anymore so she broke from her uncle's grasp and walked back to him.

When he looked up at her, his gaze was heavy. He smiled again, only more tired and weak. It took a lot of control to keep her voice from shaking, "Gendry, you aren't well. And you won't get well until you let the maester leech your blood." His eyes grew wide and the fear returned to them.

"Please. Don't-," he rasped.

She interrupted, feigning confidence, "You have to Gendry. You will die if you don't." She paused enough for him to open his mouth in more protest, "Stop being so stubborn and just do it, damn you." She said, forcing a grin onto her face.

He looked almost hurt but his mouth pulled up at the sides. "You're a terrible liar." He replied and it was almost like the old Gendry was back. He looked at Maester Vyman and nodded warily. She breathed a sigh of relief and intended to leave, turning away, grateful not to look on Gendry's pained expressions or smell the sickness rolling off of him. But she felt someone clutch her hand. She stared down at his pale, sweaty fingers tightening their grasp.


	7. Chapter 7

"Stay with me." Gendry whispered searching her face. She looked back at her uncle and he nodded urging her back towards him. She swallowed nervously. She didn't know if she could take anymore. She almost walked out already from the feelings she was having. His hand was clammy and cold which was strange, but what was even more bizarre to her was that he was holding her hand in the first place. It must be his fever messing with his head.

She stepped closer and nodded. His face relaxed with relief and his eyes slid closed. She could see red on the inside of his nostrils and the corner of his mouth. Maester Vyman was standing on the other side of him with a bowl in his hand. She could see a black mound moving, slithering. Her stomach still caused a raucous and the blood-suckers were not helping.

She looked back at Gendry, his eyebrows worrying at his closed eyes. "Can't you give him some dream wine or milk of the poppy and do this when he goes to sleep?" Arya asked the maester worriedly.

"I would have done that already my lady, but I have already given him too much. I'm afraid if he falls asleep now-," he stopped and glanced away. She knew what he was going to say.

"Let's get this over with." She mumbled staring at the leeches. He nodded and took the tweezers from the table next to him and picked one from the pile. It curled and uncurled frantically until he placed it onto Gendry's stomach. His skin tightened as he tensed against the writhing leech. It was like he stopped breathing.

Unsure of how to comfort him, she said, "Gendry, you have to relax." For the first time since he held her hand, she responded by squeezing his fingers. It was like he was made of stone and she broke him apart with the slight touch. His body visibly sunk deeper into the mattress and his face mirrored someone in a deep slumber. She felt herself begin to panic at the thought of him sleeping, the maester's words reiterating their importance. "Gendry, are you awake?" she said, with no response. Taking in a deep breath, she repeated, "Gendry?"

The maester looked at him with matched concern until Gendry nodded slowly, "I'm here, Arya."

She let the air out that she was holding and said, "Well don't go to sleep, okay?"

He smiled weakly. She wondered what was making him so calm. There were four men in here holding him down when they attempted to put leeches on him then. He's being so strange.

Maester Vyman continued to place leeches on Gendry's middle and he continued to leave his eyes closed. She didn't know what to do. She sighed in exasperation. She felt helpless just standing next to him holding his hand. What was that doing? Nothing. If there was someone that did this, then she would kill them but there was no one. Just sickness. She looked around for something, anything to ease her restlessness. Instead, she settled on Gendry's face.

His eye lids were almost blue with the veins that pressed through. He was so pale, even his lips. They were cracked and chapped with small lines of red where the skin was broken and bloody. She thought for sure if someone touched them they would crumble like one of the ancient Stark statues hidden deep in the crypts of Winterfell. Gendry risked his health to retrieve her antidote and now she stood there watching helplessly; no instant cure and no miracle remedy to fetch in return. Just another person she was forced to stand by and watch suffer and die. This was the exact reason for not making attachments. Her pain was ceaseless even after they had long gone to join the release of death. They were free of worry and guilt, but she never would be.

Her mind refocused on the room. She hadn't realized she was staring until she felt her body swaying. The maester noticed and looked at her nervously.

"Mayhaps you should have a seat, my lady?" He set the bowl on the table and shuffled around the bed and pulled a chair from the wall. "Please, you aren't recovered yet." She stared at him and realized the room was slightly spinning. Sitting would be better than waking up on the floor. She pulled her hand from Gendry's and pulled the chair up to the cot. She didn't understand the instinct that overcame her to place her hand back where it was before. Her fingers slid back into place beneath Gendry's. It startled her when he tightened his grip. She looked to his face and found his eyes open and his dry lips stretched to a small smile.

She didn't see the maester return to his spot beside Gendry until he spoke, "I think this will do for now. We need to let them finish their work." He looked to Arya and added, "My lady, you must get more rest if you want to get back your strength."

She nodded impatiently, "I know. I will resign to bed soon. I'm fine for now."

He bowed and excused himself to retreat to his desk. She rolled her eyes and without much resistance, found herself looking back at Gendry. He was looking at her with a pained expression. This was a different look than before. She raised an eyebrow at him.

He swallowed dryly and rasped, "You should go rest." The sound of his voice almost made her cringe. It wasn't Gendry's deep, confident tone. It was rough and withdrawn. Almost that he was shy of her.

"I just said I'm fine. I can stay for a while longer." He nodded meagerly and looked down at his middle and then quickly closed his eyes. She thought his face got paler; if that was even possible. She had almost forgotten about the leeches until she saw them bulge and writhe on his skin. There were at least ten and five spotting his white skin. It reminded her of blood drops in snow.

She wasn't sure how she could make him feel better and she was tired of sitting uselessly. When she was younger and was ill in Winterfell, her mother would reminisce her youth and meeting her father. Without hesitation, her mouth opened, "In Winterfell, Old Nan would tell us stories," she paused and glanced at him, "my favorite were the ones about what was beyond the Wall."

He opened his eyes and watched her. Before she could go on he said, "Will you tell me one?" He shifted on the bed and turned his head toward her. His dark hair lay soaked with sweat against his forehead and his feverish eyes bore into hers. She felt his fingers moving under her own. For some reason it made her want to move closer.

"Sure, I'll tell you about the ice dragon." He smiled faintly and she added, "You aren't going to get scared are you?" She grinned and he coughed out a small chuckle.

"Shut up and tell me the story or I'll fall asleep." He teased back. She laughed and started talking about the ice dragon. She told him how if you got breathed on by one, you would instantly freeze. The stories Old Nan told her just tumbled from her mind like she heard them yesterday. It was strange to think about how long ago it was. Just six years ago, she and her brothers were gathered around Old Nan listening to all of her mysterious tales.

As she spoke more about the ice dragon and its crystal blue scales and icy serpentine body, Gendry continued to look into her eyes. His color began to mirror her imaginary ice dragon. Its long, thin body curled in a circle around the black egg of his pupil. His eyes weren't his normal vibrant blue like what a real, fierce ice dragon would be colored, but a stormy, dark grey like an ice dragon that was exposed to too much heat. The original crystal that radiated from its scales became dull and fogged with moisture. Gendry's eyes were similar. They were dark and glassy, far from his usual bright and vigorous gaze. His strong eyes were what Arya liked most about Gendry. But now that vibrancy was being smothered and taken from her.

"There is a constellation in the form of the ice dragon. Its blue-."

"-eyes point North." Gendry interrupted, whispering. His whole body shivered, his face looked completely wasted of all energy. His jaw hung slack and the skin on his face seemed to just barely cling to the bone underneath. She knew he was really sick but now it seemed that he was finally letting the pain show on the outside.

"Maester, can the leeches come off now?" she called over to the old man. She knew if the leeches were gone Gendry would rest easier.

Maester Vyman walked over, "Ah, yes. It is about time to take these off." He reached for his bowl and looked at Gendry, "This may hurt a little, son." He slowly reached forward and pinched the head of one leech to release the suction from Gendry's skin.

He didn't seem to react. His remained tilted her way, eyes staring downward to their hands.

"Here, let me help." She offered anxiously. She wanted to get them off as soon as possible. Lord Bolton once had her do the same when she was at Harrenhal. She stood and released Gendry's hand. As soon as she let go, his hand laid palm up, his fingers curled loosely open, left the way they were when he was holding her hand. His eyes stayed locked where their hands were a moment ago. It made her nervous to not see him respond to anything and just lay limp.

She quickly removed the writhing, fat black parasites from his pale skin. He was whiter than before the leeches. It was like they sucked the very last drops of blood from his body. They pulled the last ones off, leaving blood leaking from the small gaping holes. It looked like he had been stabbed over and over with the blade Jon gave her, Needle. She still had Needle but didn't use it because she had grown out of it. It made her uneasy to think the red gouges in Gendry looked like Needle's doing. The Maester used a rag to dab at the bloody hollows.

When he finished he took her elbow and steered her away. "My lady, you need rest," he held up his hand expecting her angry reply, "as does he. I am going to give him dream wine."

Her chest swelled with relief, "So he will be okay?"

Maester Vyman looked at her with pitiful, grey eyes. "I don't know. The leeches removed some infected blood but I am not sure if it was enough. Not yet." He paused and studied her worried face, "He needs to sleep to improve but if he sleeps I cannot guarantee he will wake up. I have done what I can. He is in the gods' hands now." He patted her arm and walked to his table. She followed him because she didn't believe that Gendry might not live. He talked to her and didn't look like a man that could die.

"Wait. Are you sure? I know he's sick but he doesn't seem that bad…"

"He has been on the road for several days without sleep or any kind of rest. I'm impressed with his strength but he has been continuing on with his adrenaline alone. Haven't you noticed he's beginning to become weaker as he gets more relaxed? His health is finally catching up with him." He poured the dark red liquid into a deep goblet. The darkness of the room made the cup look like an unending pit. "Lady Arya, he is getting weaker. Sleep is his only savior."

She followed him back to where Gendry laid. He was still staring with his eyes half open at his hand. She walked to where she had been before and touched his hand. She wanted him so badly to react and not be so vacant. His fingers moved softly to her touch but his eyes stayed frozen in an impassive look. She would have thought he was dead if not for his fingers' slight movement.

Maester Vyman pressed his palm against Gendry's forehead and his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. He shook his head and moved his hand to the side of Gendry's face and leaned it so he was ready to take the wine. He raised the goblet to Gendry's lips and she felt something stir inside of her.

"Wait." She said quickly, "I need to tell him something before he goes to sleep." The maester nodded and stepped back. She wasn't sure if he would wake up again and she needed to tell him she was sorry. Everything that happened made her feel that she was responsible for his potential demise.

She gripped his hand tighter and opened her mouth ready to tell him everything she was thinking. Suddenly she felt butterflies filling her stomach causing her to hesitate. Instead she whispered, "Gendry." She didn't know what to expect but he moved his head and opened his eyes wider. They looked blank and darker than before. "I…" she stopped because her stomach was overwhelming her and she decided that her own sickness was just making her feel silly. _I'm so stupid. Why would he care? It wouldn't bring him happiness._

"Just wake up. Okay?" He managed to tense his mouth and force a small smile. The color of his eyes changed at her words. They were even darker, but not duller. There was recognition and realization in the depths of his eyes. He knew he might not wake up.

The maester reappeared beside him with the goblet. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes from the sadness in his. Gendry's hand trembled in hers and she took it in both of her hands to possibly steady it. Her mind was returning to the state it was before; when his racking coughs were consuming his body and she believed his fate would become similar to her family's.

The goblet glinted in the limited light as it was tipped against Gendry's dry, broken lips. The desperate gaze was extinguished momentarily as he closed his eyes and he received the dream wine. She watched his adam's apple work to swallow the liquid. The goblet was removed and she searched his face, hoping for one last glimpse of his eyes, just once more before he fell asleep. But instead she saw a tear escape and run down his cheek as if it was fleeing from his sorrow. His hands' tremors spread to the rest of his body. His eyes snapped open suddenly with complete dismay filling them, startling her with a gasp.

"Wait, I don't-" he breathed, panicked.

She spoke breathless, startled, "Gendry, it's okay. You're going to be fine." He was shaking his head and more tears spilled, soaking his pale skin. The maester looked upon him, forlorn. He turned and walked away, shoulders slumped. She watched him leave in disbelief. She didn't think he was trying hard enough to make Gendry better.

His breath was slowing and his eyes drooping. He continued to mouth words through his wheezing. His eyes were pleading with her like he was trying to tell her something. She still held his hand with both of hers, trying to calm him.

"Gendry, don't be afraid. You'll wake -," she stopped as he had pulled her hand to his slowly, heaving chest. His action brought her closer to him, the stench of stale blood and blatant fear caressed her nose.

"I don't-," he whispered, breathing a puff of air that smelled and tasted like desperation over Arya's mouth, "I don't want this-," he mumbled. She could feel the tears in her eyes and tried pushing them away. _Why do I feel afraid? Fear cuts deeper than swords._ His eyes were falling and she could only see a glimmer of blue just through his wet eye lashes.

"Don't be afraid, you won't die." She murmured, convincing more herself than him. She assumed he was trying to say that he didn't want to die or that he was afraid to die. That was normal but it wasn't something she was afraid of happening to herself. However, now it seemed she was afraid of him dying. She had killed men for the many faced god but this was different. It was Gendry, someone she knew. _Valar Morghulis._ _All men must die._ She tried to convince herself that the same phrase applied to this, but she couldn't do it. The phrase cut deep into the empty hole in her chest, ripping it through and through.

His hand had gone completely limp and his eyes nearly closed. He continued to breathe, "I don't want this…" but never finishing. Finally, he sighed one last word before allowing his eyes to succumb to the influence of the wine.

"Arya." His mouth hung slack with the last vowel released. She couldn't move. Her body wanted to linger over him and let the sound of her name sink into it. The nearness of him would have made her uncomfortable but she felt like she was protecting him, defending him, guarding him. She felt like a wolf standing over an injured pack member.

Before she stumbled from the room and into the coolness of the hallway, she silently promised Gendry she would return every day until he woke. She wouldn't let her lonely curse consume him. Not today.


	8. Chapter 8

As she wandered the halls to the sanctity of her chambers, Gendry's sad face floated in her mind. _Why did he have to do this to himself? He would be fine right now if not for me._ Her chest felt heavy with fatigue and guilt. She passed a few people who wished her better health soon and all she could do was nod and smile appreciatively. No one ever asked about Gendry, they only cared for a high lady's health. He was lowborn and insignificant. If he died, it wouldn't make a difference. She sighed heavily at the thought of Gendry dying as she pushed the large oak door to her chamber open.

A servant girl practically ran to her side. "I'm so happy to see you up and well, milady." She was a skinny, red-haired girl with large, watery pale blue eyes. She sounded as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Thank you, Cera. I'm feeling fine now. Just tired." Arya gave her a small smile. The girl reminded her of a cross between herself and her lost sister, Sansa. She looked like she would enjoy being carried away by a charming knight; a dream Sansa would voice every day.

The girl nodded eagerly, "I have a bath ready for you and your night clothes-,"

Arya raised her hand to stop her from her rehearsed line of night preparations. In fact, she wasn't really sure what time of day or night it was. She knew it was dark outside but she wasn't sure if it was late evening or early morning. "Cera, what time is it? Is it late?"

"It is the middle o' the night, milady. Possibly close to dawn."

"Cera, why are you awake? You should be asleep, not tending to me." She shook her head, knowing full well that her Uncle was behind this girl's lack of sleep. She shooed the girl out of her chambers and assured her that she was going to go to sleep and not to worry until she woke much later in the day. She still could never get used to having a servant all the time. After years and years of doing the work of a lowborn, sitting back and allowing simple work to be done for her, irked her.

Her chamber was a large room with a small library in one corner, a giant copper tub in another and through the tall window was a beautiful view of the Red Fork. Her Uncle Brynden offered Arya her mother's old chambers when she first arrived at Riverrun. She quickly and politely refused. He was always trying to force his memories of her mother on her. Arya knew he loved her and missed her, she did too, but she has always tried to avoid her memories and the rest of her family's. It was just easier not to think about them.

She stood beside the mattress debating whether to change into the bed clothes that were laid out for her or to just crawl under the red and blue silk blankets, tunic and all. Eventually she had just flopped onto the top and curled in a ball. She was accustomed to sleeping without comfort and that's what she preferred. Her eyes felt irritably dry and sore so it was a relief to close them. But Gendry's face still hung in the darkness behind her lids. She forced the image away and thought of darkness. Just nothingness.

The nothingness changed to the smell of pine needles and river water. She hoped it was a wolf dream like she had before in Braavos. Ever since she returned to Westeros with intentions to end her prayer of names, the dreams stopped. The smell grew stronger allowing her to let an expanse of trees to sprout around her. The mist hugged her body, caressing her skin. She prowled through the trees, sword in hand, glancing back and forth through the branches. She came to an opening and realized it was the Frey's camp her and Gendry found. The soldiers were unaware of her presence so she slipped in behind the first and slit his throat. The other three stood where they were as if they didn't see it happen. She strode forward, letting her sword rip into the next one's heart. There was blood on her hands, dripping from the pommel as she held it ready for another attacker. She turned and glimpsed Gendry smashing his large body against the third soldier and then easily sliding his blade between the ribs of the last. As the Frey men fell, she expected to hear the heavy, limp crash of their bodies against the ground. But there was nothing. She could only smell the scent of the trees and feel the warm blood trickle down her arms.

Gendry turned to smile at her, his eyes lit brightly against the mist reflecting in them. She felt her mouth ease into a thankful beam. Suddenly his face broke, and she could see the tip of a blade poking through the jerkin where his heart resided. His eyebrows pulled together and his mouth was twisted into a painful grimace. She felt her body shake as if she were screaming. Her muscles felt heavy with anguish as she watched him fall to his knees and then finally forward into the dirt. The hooded man stood with his hand frozen in place right where Gendry's heart was when he was standing. He didn't move either, even as she whipped her dagger to stick in between his eyes. It found its mark but the craven's black eyes disappeared in a wisp of emerald smoke and left the dagger sticking in the tree behind him.

She tripped to her knees next to Gendry and turned him over with a shaking hand. His eyes stared upward to the treetops and his mouth left agape. Her fingers frantically searched his body for the wound but it was nowhere. Dried Frey blood clung to her skin but no more. Her body shook with another tremor of grief. Her deafness didn't leave her unaware of the miserable cries leaving her mouth, filling her body, crushing her soul. She took Gendry's face in her hands and held it against her chest, willing her body's life to enter his and bring him back. She let his head fall into her lap and allowed one last broken howl to rip through her. She looked down into his pale blue eyes and let the tears fall. They felt heavy on her skin as they coursed down her hot skin. One ran down her nose and fell from the tip onto Gendry's colorless skin. Its ruby gleam radiated brilliantly against the pallid expanse of his cheek. She lifted a hand from his face to her own and brushed under her eye. Her hand was outstretched before her and the thick blood on the ends of her fingers shone brightly.

She gasped and then there was darkness before her; the darkness of her room in the tower. Her throat and ears ached from the sobs shaking her body. She reached for her eyes before she even thought of it and the wetness that returned on them sent panic through her limbs. _Blood._ She frantically crawled from her bed to the floor and tore the heavy, embroidered curtains open spilling morning light on her. She hastily wiped at her wet face again and let the orange sunrise bathe her fingers. _Nothing. Just tears._ She held her hands up and let the sun shine between the gaps to her face. _Only a dream. Only a stupid dream._

She remained sitting on the floor allowing the cool autumn breeze raise goose pimples and sting her raw throat as she breathed in and out. _What kind of dream was that?_ Hearing herself breathe was strange after not having the ability in her dream. She rubbed her face and felt the soreness in her eyes from crying. She hated to cry, even before her family was taken away from her. She wasn't a delicate, emotional lady. She was Arya Stark, lone wolf of Winterfell.

She stood deciding she wouldn't be able to return to sleep and bathed in the water from the night before. She relished in the chill of it, washing over her skin and startling awake every nerve in her body. She dressed in a clean tunic and breeches and laced up her boots. She knelt beside her bed and slid her hand along the side and pulled out Needle.

She sighed with the comforting weight of it in her palm. This was the one piece of her she kept while she stayed at the House of Black and White. They asked her to be "No One" and that was who she was; until she held Needle. Needle was her home and her family and _her._ Arya Stark wasn't a name someone could easily forget. And Needle wouldn't let her. She sat thinking about her family only for a moment. She tried to pull their faces from her memory but they revealed themselves in her mind all distorted, like they were resisting her desperate tug.

She shook her head and returned Needle to its hiding place. She stood and almost fell back to her knees from the wave of nausea that swept her muscles. Her sickness was still upon her no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. During her sickness, she couldn't eat or drink so she had to catch up. Water would help a lot so she set off to the main hall wearily. She encountered the same thoughtful remarks from servants and others as she made her way to the hall. According to the light in the sky, she couldn't have slept longer than a few hours. _Damn that dream._ She wasn't going to be in good shape later in the day.

The presence of the dining hall changed as soon as she opened the tall oaken doors. The servants were bustling back and forth between tables cleaning the morning mess until she entered. They dispersed quickly like a nest of rabbits being discovered by a predator. She sighed in annoyance as she walked the long hall to the high table. She would have just stayed and ate at one of the lower tables but that was one thing her uncle did not tolerate. He would allow her to wear and run about where she wished, but inside the castle he expected her to act like a proper lady.

She sat at the end of the great, unending wooden table and asked for a blood sausage, two hard-boiled eggs, bread, and water. Her thirst was the worst of her needs. Her stomach burned like a small fire and her head swam dizzily. She picked at the embroidered silver fish that swam in red and blue waters of thread that ran down the middle of the table. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the shiny scales because the room spun when she looked up.

Her food and water arrived and she gulped it all down while the servants stood by watching nervously. Her stomach was feeling better with each bite but her head was still throbbing. She drank the rest of her water and stood.

"Thank you." She nodded in the gaping servants' direction and strode off. She didn't know where she was headed but she needed to walk. Her legs were aching for some physical attention so they started toward the practice yard on their own accord.

Her ears caught the sound of clanging swords and the _thump_ of arrows hitting a target. She thought of her daggers and her feet picked up their pace. She walked into view and the men turned to stare. They still weren't used to a woman training with them. They always started off teasing her and then regretted it when she beat them into the ground. She smiled at the expressions she had received in the past.

She walked to the weapon racks and let the gleam of each blade touch her eye until her hand reached for the one she instinctively desired. A pair of daggers with leather handles. Simple and perfect. She turned them over in her hand. They were only practice daggers so the blade was flat and dull. But it was a beautiful blade. A blade stuck in the heart of Gendry. His crumpled, pain induced face flashed in the reflection of the blade and she dropped it. She felt sick all over again and her eyes started to water. She grabbed for a wall or something to steady herself but instead knocked swords and bows from their hooks, letting them crash to the ground in a thunder of scraping and ringing. She felt eyes on her as she stumbled to catch herself. She heard them begin to approach her with their offers of assistance but that was the last thing she wanted. She pushed past them without a word and walked to the maester's tower. She knew she needed to see Gendry. The dream was nagging at the fringes of her mind. She needed the relief of knowing he was still alive.


	9. Chapter 9

The winding stairs felt like they were trying to keep her from the top, always building another step after another, after another. By the time she reached the top she was trying to catch her breath and her balance. _Gods, I am a mess._ She pushed through the door and sighed at the sight of Gendry's unmoved body.

"My lady, what are you doing here? You should be resting." Maester Vyman chided, walking quickly to her. He studied her with concerned grey eyes and a stubborn mouth.

She sighed in exasperation, "I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep very well. I thought I would stop in and see how he's doing." She brushed passed the maester and walked to Gendry's bed. He looked as he did when she left him; pale and broken, with the whisper of her name still on his lips.

"He's still asleep and will remain that way for at least a few days if he's improving." He shuffled to Gendry's other side and looked at Arya, "You don't need to stay here, my lady. I will inform you if anything changes."

His persistent attempts to convince her to leave made her want to stay longer. Maesters always made her feel uneasy. She knew they vowed to be loyal and do their duties to the sick, but she had heard of them poisoning others and being able to use sickness as an excuse. She trusted Maester Luwin, but she had grown up with him from her birth. He was practically a grandfather to her. Another family member killed because of her. She shook her head clear of the thoughts and sat in the unmoved chair beside Gendry's bed.

"I think I will stay for a while. Since you won't let me do anything else, I will just _rest_ here." She hissed "rest" sarcastically hoping to annoy him. She was tired of his chastising.

"As you wish." He huffed, leaving for his desk. She stuck her tongue out at his turned back. _Stupid maester._ Her eyes wandered back to Gendry and her heart gave a guilty squeeze. She thought of her dream and chewed on her lip. He seemed fine for the condition he was in, but she couldn't erase his face from her mind. His bare arms lay on top of the woolen blanket he was tucked into. They were still shiny with sweat along with his other exposed skin. She hesitantly reached for his hand, hoping it would help the pressure on her chest.

The skin on his palm was clammy and cold, his fingers lying beneath hers limply. His hand was so big compared to hers. Certainly, he needed the immensity of them for clasping heavy hammers and banging on metal, but now they seemed so purposeless, resting quietly on the soft wool.

Why did she always find comfort in holding his hand? She sighed heavily. She didn't understand anything anymore. She was worried, sick and tired; but mostly tired. Her body's protest at the practice yard made that clear.

She swung her legs up on to the mattress beside Gendry. If she was going to rest, she was going to do it right. Her mouth hung open wide and long with the enormous yawn that consumed her. _I really need some sleep._ But the dream hung in the back of her mind threateningly. She didn't want to wake up in hysterics again. Definitely not in the presence of the maester. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She leaned back at the comforting phrase, and forced her eyes closed. Within minutes she was drifting to sleep.

When she woke, her mind couldn't adjust to her surroundings. And then everything came rushing back and she sat up to look out the window. It was covered with a heavy cloth so the sun wasn't visible. The maester remained at his desk, hunched over.

"What time is it?" Her voice was rough with sleep.

Without looking at her, he replied, "It is nighttime, my lady." He turned in his chair, "You missed supper. But I'm glad you found comfort enough to sleep."

Her shoulders and back ached from the awkward sleeping position, but she felt rested. She slept through the whole day. _Thank the gods I didn't have that dream again._ She moved the fingers that were still under Gendry's. The heat from his hand caused sticky sweat to cling to her skin. She rubbed her face with her other hand. _Just wake up already._ She was partly nervous and excited for him to wake, but she wanted him to wake as Gendry; not as the weak, wary man he was before.

She heard the door creak open and her Uncle Brynden strode in. She ripped her hand from beneath Gendry's. She didn't know why she felt the need to hide something as silly as that from her Uncle. He looked surprised to see her as he walked to the cot.

"Arya, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just visiting. I wanted to see if anything changed." She replied, standing and stretching her bunched muscles.

"She fell asleep and slept through most of the day, my lord." Maester Vyman put in, as he walked and bowed in front of the Blackfish. Her uncle's expression changed from worried to amused, and he smiled like he knew something she didn't.

"Are you feeling better? You surely look better, my lady." He touched her cheek while sustaining that ominous smirk.

"I'm fine. I didn't sleep well when I went to bed earlier so when I came here, the darkness and warmth put me to sleep." She shrugged and turned to sit back in the wooden chair. She knew her uncle cared about her and she was growing to feel the same, but she tried to keep her distance. Anyone close to her has always been hurt. She wouldn't let that happen anymore if she could help it.

Lord Tully's smile faded and he turned to the maester, "What of the boy? Is there any improvement?" She wondered why he seemed so concerned. She was glad, but confused. Gendry was lucky to even get proper treatment for his lowborn background.

"I have no reason to say whether he is improving or getting worse. His fever is the same and the fluid in his chest hasn't changed." He looked to Gendry, "I think I will leech him again. At least until he wakes." She frowned at the thought of Gendry's reaction to the leeches before. She wanted to argue against it but she knew it would help remove the sickness.

"Do what needs to be done." Brynden replied turning toward Arya, "Come my lady, it is time for bed." She would have gotten angry for the way he talked to her like she was a child, but her weariness took overruled that reaction. Despite the very long nap, she still felt tired; exhausted, really. She nodded and stood, swaying slightly. Both men looked at her with concern.

She rolled her eyes, "Let's go then." Her Uncle took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. They nodded their farewells and headed into the corridor. She silently prayed for Gendry to wake as they walked out into the courtyard.

"Arya, I know you don't want to hear it, but you need to rest. You were unconscious for four days, of which you didn't eat or drink… I heard what happened at the training yard." He glanced at her through gray eyelashes.

She sighed exasperated, "I'm _fine_. That was when I barely had any sleep. I'm feeling much better now." Her throbbing head and queasy stomach reminded her of her lie, but after much practice in Braavos, she could've told him she was a purple octopus and he would've believed her.

"Even so, I don't want you in the training yard until I think you're well enough." He held up his hand as she began to protest, "I don't want anything to happen to you Arya. You're the last of my family and I will make sure nothing ill befalls you." He had stopped walking and was holding her shoulders. It always made her feel uncomfortable when he talked like this. She didn't like the feelings that rose when he talked about the loss of their family. She knew he meant well and cared about her but she has never wanted or tried to talk about her family with anyone. She never had anyone to talk about it with.

Trying to appease him she replied, "I know, Uncle. Thank you for everything you've done for me." She smiled hoping to move on. He must have sensed it because he smiled sadly, his soft eyes forcing her to think of her father once again.

He guided them toward her tower, "Besides, if you want to continue being a ranger and not a proper lady, you will obey my wishes." He grinned at her fuming expression. "That's the only way I can make sure you do as I say." His chuckle echoed off the stone walls. She rolled her eyes and looked up at the dark sky. Clouds were nonexistent as the stars shone brightly and the moon was glaring so much that she felt like shading her eyes.

"Why are you helping Gendry?" The question slipped out and she realized how blunt it sounded. The thought has been nagging at her and she just couldn't stop her curiosity any longer.

"He saved your life Arya. He doesn't deserve to suffer when he has done so much." He suddenly became very serious. Listening to the fact that Gendry saved her life out loud made the guilt return, heavier than ever.

They walked in silence up the spiral staircase to her chambers. She didn't know what to say to that and her shoulders were feeling weighed down. They reached her door and the Blackfish sighed, "Arya, Gendry is a good, strong man. He will pull through this sickness. You are lucky to have him as a friend," He bent and kissed her cheek, "Be as loyal as he is to you," and headed back down the stairs.

She stood there thinking about what her uncle said. _Be as loyal as he is to you_. Gendry wasn't loyal to her. If he was, he wouldn't have stayed with the Brotherhood and left her alone. He saved her life but she didn't think he did it for her. He did it because he's stubborn, not because he cared about her.

Cera was there to help her into bed. Her chilled skin made her want under the blankets this time. Cera left and she burrowed deep into the mattress, trying to escape the Blackfish's words. She fell asleep to a whirlwind of accusing voices, yelling, shouting, crying at her...


	10. Chapter 10

_It's just a dream. Just a dream. A dream._ She punched her pillow in frustration. She had the same dream; killing Freys, the mysterious maester, Gendry's death, blood red tears…

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and yanked a tunic and trousers on again. It felt like she just got in bed a few minutes ago. The breeze through her window stung the fresh tears on her face. _Why do I have to keep having this dream? I didn't have it before in the maester's chambers, so why now?_

She flew down the stairs and debated whether she should go see Gendry again. The maester would force her back to her room and she would surely hear it from her uncle. Knowing him, he would probably confine her to her room and forbid her from going anywhere at all. She headed toward the stables hoping a ride until morning would keep her mind from that dream.

The gates were not heavily guarded and haven't needed to be since Riverrun's victory over the Twins. She wasn't here when it happened, but she heard of her uncle's victory all across the countryside, even in Saltpans when she returned to Westeros. Her return wasn't the same as when she arrived in Braavos on Titan's Daughter. Though, the return gave her the confidence to redeem her honor and claim Arya Stark's name again. She refused to be a mouse any longer. She was going to return as Arya Stark; not Arry, Weasel, Salty, Cat of the Canals or even Arya Horseface. She was tired of hiding, so when she heard of her Uncle Brynden crushing the Freys and beheading Walder Frey, she knew she needed to be with him.

But, of course she came across Gendry before she made it to Riverrun. It was a rough reunion, as expected, but she was happy to discover he still had a head on his shoulders. Gendry said the Brotherhood without Banners still existed, but they wandered around more than they did before. Gendry was all too eager to come with her when she mentioned where she was going. She reminded him of his previous arguments from five years ago when he first told her how the Brotherhood could give him a "family." _Idiot._ She knew he revealed their empty camaraderie and false hope, and that was enough for her.

It was like there were only a few days since they were last united. Gendry was still same old, stubborn, bull-headed Gendry. She was used to being alone but his company was a nice change. She didn't like to be a lone wolf but her curse of abandonment left her no choice.

She rode along the Red Fork River inviting the watery spray to sprinkle her skin. It wasn't warm and salty like Braavos, but it made a nostalgic smile emerge. She needed this freedom from the castle. A wolf isn't meant to be locked up in a tower. Her horse seemed to be enjoying their ride as well, possibly taking in her positive energy. She let her mind wander and of course, the ominous maester from her dream kept surfacing. She slowed the horse to a trot and thought back to the emerald mist that was left as his sneering face dissipated. Why green? The dagger in her dream was green and silver but she wasn't even sure if the real dagger was the same. The Freys' colors were blue and grey so that didn't connect. She rubbed her face trying to milk the meaning of her dream out of her confused mind.

Another part of her dream sprang to the surface, unwanted. Why did she cry blood? The Kindly Man always told her that dreams were important and analyzing them would prove useful for the dreamer. Perhaps the blood represented Gendry's death. But he wasn't dead, it was only a dream. That part of her dream was too deep for her to understand. But the dagger could mean something.

The sun peeked over the hills of the Riverlands at her, spilling shy orange rays on the damp trees. She must have been out riding for the majority of the night. Her body still felt stiff with weariness, but better overall. It took her a long time to ride back to the triangular castle. She patted her horse and headed up to the maester's chambers, the image of the dagger still lingering in her thoughts.

"My lady, good to see you." Maester Vyman bowed.

"Hello, maester. This may be strange of me to ask, but can I see the dagger that poisoned me?" She didn't feel like having small talk right now. She wanted to interpret her dream so it could cease its torment.

He studied her momentarily and walked to his desk waving her over. He took a large jar from one of his shelves and unscrewed the lid painfully slow. The jar was cloudy so she wasn't even sure what to expect. He tipped the jar and the dagger clanged onto his desk with a ghostly powder coating the blade.

"Why is it all powdery?" The chalky substance covered the handle enough that she couldn't see if it was silver.

"This is a neutralizing remedy for the poison that is on the blade. Wolf's bane cannot be wiped or washed clean. It is too dangerous to handle in such a way." He paused and studied the weapon, "I think it should be fine to touch if you wish to examine it. I believe the powder has done its work."

She reached for it eagerly, the powder clinging to her fingers as she lifted it. The weight of the metal was strange in her hand. Suddenly, a tinge of fear slashed at her mind and she wanted to drop it. This is what almost killed her and she's holding it as if it could do no more harm. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She swept her thumb across the hilt revealing a shimmer of silver playing across the design in the metal. She rubbed the white dust from the decorative piece that jutted out at the bottom of the hilt. A vibrant green burst brightly from beneath the grimey cloak. Her breath caught in her throat. _It's the same._

Without looking up and giving away her shocked expression, she asked, "What house has the colors green and silver?" She recalled her teachings in Winterfell and the only house she could associate the colors with was House Botley. But they were from the Iron Islands of which she had absolutely no connection with.

The maester cleared his throat, "Well, my lady, there's House Botley with silver fish on a pale green field. They are lords of Lordsport on Pyke and no one of concern." He trailed off quietly. She could feel his curious, grey eyes on her. She had to figure this out but she didn't want the maester's help. She would talk to her uncle about it soon.

She lifted her eyes to his, setting the dagger back on his desk, "I was just curious. Thank you for your help." To change the subject, she turned toward an unmoved Gendry, "Has there been any change?"

They walked to the bed and looked on at his ashen figure with concern. "His fever and other symptoms are the same. He will probably be waking up soon." His cheekbones seemed a bit more sunken in and it was darker around his eyes. She prayed that didn't mean he was slowly turning into a bony corpse.

The maester cleared his throat as if to gain her attention, "My lady, do you think you could stay with him for a while? I have run low on my supplies and could use much of it to his benefit." He paused and quickly added, "I'm sorry, it was improper of me to ask such-"

"I'll stay. You've been by his side for almost three days. I would have gone insane by now." She felt she owed the old man something for attempting to heal Gendry. A wave of guilt overtook her as she thought back at how suspicious she was of him.

Maester Vyman nodded, "Thank you, my lady. I won't be gone for long. I just need to visit my supplier and a few regular patients. I expect to return this evening." He turned and snatched a leather satchel from his chair, "If he wakes, there is dream wine over here. Give him water before you send him back to sleep." He saw her doubtful look, "Do not worry, my lady. I believe he won't give you much trouble and I am not far away." He gave her a reassuring smile and left.

She let out a great puff of air. _Why did I agree to this? I don't know how to take care of sick people._ For once she hoped for Gendry not to wake. "It's just you and me." She whispered down to him. She noticed a bowl of water sitting on a stool beside the cot. She looked back at Gendry's sweaty skin. "Well, I guess if I'm going to take care of you, I'll do it right." She shook her head at her silly commentary. _I'm going crazy after just a few minutes._

She dipped her fingers into the cool water and pulled the cloth out, wringing it with a loud splash. Her hand naturally started at his face, dabbing lightly. She had never done this before but she had watched her mother and maesters do it. She bent to push his hair back, her fingers combing through it. It was soft despite the thickness that tangled around her knuckles. She wiped the cloth across his forehead and down the side of his face to his neck. She stopped suddenly, staring at his face. His nose was long and straight, matching his tall cheekbones. He was definitely the kind of man her sister, Sansa, would swoon over. His jaw was sharp and angular beneath the dark stubble that dusted his sun-tanned skin. Sansa would surely gush over his eyes as well. Arya could picture them the way they always were; blue, vibrant, intense. When he laughed, they would grow so bright, it was hard for her to say if they were blue anymore. She frowned at the thought. If he died, she wouldn't be able to guess what color his eyes really turned when he laughed. Her thumb was resting on his neck and she could feel a slight nudge from his pulse. It was weak but it was there.

"You have to wake up Gendry. _Please._ " She whispered, struggling to keep her emotions at bay. His lips came together and then apart, back to their original position with a long exhale. She leaned closer, staring at his lips, hoping for a sign of consciousness. Then her stomach gave a lurch and she realized where her hands were and the proximity of their bodies. She wrenched her hands free and jumped back as if he were a blazing fire. If he had woken up, it would've looked like she was going to kiss him. _Gods, what's wrong with me?_ Even if he did wake up, he wouldn't want her to kiss him. He wouldn't want a horse-faced girl like her. Besides, boys are stupid. And girls are stupid. She was a wolf. She rolled her eyes and forced the absurdity away. She finished dabbing cold water on his skin, trying her best to smother the fever heating the cloth.

After she finished, she sat in her usual chair and looked at him nervously. What if he woke up coughing? And there was blood again… _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. Again, there was that overwhelming instinct of wanting to touch him. It must be some kind of protective instinct. She took his hand anyway, curling her fingers over his. They felt like the rest of his skin, clammy sweat sticking to her. His hand felt stiff and gaunt as she shifted her fingers. _Please don't die._

She gazed at his face, willing him to open his eyes. She felt like she had to do something more. Maester Vyman didn't just sit in here staring at him all the time. She knew he made medicines and researched things but that wasn't something she was going to do. She squeezed her eyes closed, thinking hard about what she could do. And then she remembered when she told him the story about the ice dragon. He seemed interested and it made him relax.

She sat up straight and thought deeply about the stories Old Nan would tell. "How about… Symeon Star Eyes!" She smiled thinking about how badly she wanted to be a fighter like him when she was younger. Her smile grew when another thought came up, "I bet you didn't know that I was blind for a little bit. The Kindly man, the one that trained me in Braavos, gave me milk one night and then when I woke up, I was blind!" She didn't feel silly talking out loud anymore. She felt like he was alert and listening. For all she knew, he was.

She talked for what felt like hours about Braavos and when she was blind. Her story went in the direction of how she got her sight back and that it was redeemed when she was able to dodge the Kindly man's strike. She was hesitant to tell him about how she could see the old man attempting to hit her through the eyes of a cat, but she did anyway. She half-heartedly hoped he was able to hear her. As she talked about Braavos, she could feel the happiness swelling up inside her chest. Braavos was like a second home to her, next to Winterfell. Her heart still longed to be in Winterfell again but the traitor, Bolton, who conspired with the Lannisters to kill Robb and her mother, held it. She realized her mouth was still moving, spewing more about her time at the House of Black and White.

She mentioned the waif girl and how irritating she was when she was teaching her Braavosi, "I think you would like her. She annoyed me as much as you do." She laughed and nudged his leg with their joined hands. His hand closed tighter around hers, startling her. "Gendry? Are you awake?" she gasped. His eyes remained closed and there was no more movement, other than his slowly rising chest. She studied his face, chewing her lip. There was nothing.

She slouched against the back of the chair. _Wake up already._ A yawn caught her off guard but she pushed it away. She can't fall asleep now. She's supposed to be taking care of Gendry. She leaned forward and propped her head on her other palm. What if he did wake up? What would he say first? The maester said he wouldn't be competent enough to know what was happening. She looked down at their hands. What would he say if he knew she was the one holding _his_ hand? He was the one who kept grabbing her hands first. _She_ was the one who should be asking the questions: Why did he save her life if he was willing to leave her so easily for the Brotherhood without Banners? Her eyes drooped heavily. Why was he so calm for her after all those men were restraining him? Their hands were fading away. Why was he concerned about her health when he should have been worrying about himself? Her head helplessly slid from her hand. Why did he act like he cared? Darkness engulfed her wandering thoughts.

She felt warmth before she opened her eyes. It was like her skin was responding to her consciousness before anything else. Heat encompassed her hands and face, like a hot summer breeze. She was comfortable and didn't want it to end. She didn't want to open her eyes and remember her worries. But then Gendry's face floated into view and it unpleasantly shook her awake.

She stared at the wool blanket, feeling the skin of Gendry's arm on her cheek. She sat up quickly, regretting the decision as her neck contracted into a cramp. She rubbed her muscles and realized the light of day fading behind the draped window. The maester hadn't returned yet and Gendry was still asleep. She felt ashamed for falling asleep when she was supposed to be taking care of him. She reached forward to place her palm on his forehead and discovered that his fever wasn't as scorching as before. His skin wasn't shiny and his hands weren't clammy, but ice cold. She smiled and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it around him. She felt a little disappointed that she couldn't hold his hand but that gave her a reason to get up and stretch. She walked to the maester's desk and remembered the dagger.

She picked it up again, this time with more hesitation, fingering the powder that still coated the blade. She held the dagger by the handle and raised the pommel to her eyes. The green stone reflected the candlelight creating a mirror-like appearance. She tilted it slightly and suddenly she felt like she was gazing into an emerald sea. She could see through the gem and there were white lines bunched together throughout the flesh of the jewel. She squinted and the lines connected as she rotated the dagger; a bird. She moved the dagger from her face and screwed her face up. _A bird?_ The door creaked open and she twirled around to the maester walking toward her.

"How did it go, my lady?" He smiled at her as he emptied his satchel on to his desk. A variety of small cloth bags and glass bottles clanged on to the wood. She immediately set the dagger back where it was before.

"He didn't wake up, but I think his fever is getting better."

Maester Vyman looked startled, "Really?" He walked to Gendry's bed and placed his hand on his head as she had done. "By the gods, you're right!" He seemed much happier now than he was earlier, before he left. Getting out of this chamber must have done him some good. "He should be waking up any time now. My lady, I have something for you since you did me a great favor by staying here." He shuffled to his desk, rummaged around in the pile of articles that were strewn everywhere, and produced a small object. He held his hand out and in the middle of his palm was a silver wolf pin. She picked it up and ran her thumb across the delicate details of the fur.

It was quite lovely and very well made. "Thank you maester, but you didn't have to do that." She looked up from the trinket and saw his beaming smile.

"No problem, my lady. I saw it and thought you would enjoy the sight of a wolf whenever you wished. I know it isn't a real wolf but I heard you had a pet direwolf of your own when you were younger."

"Nymeria. Her name was Nymeria. Thank you, Maester Vyman." She felt that his gesture was more than enough to convince her he was one of the good maesters. She hadn't received a gift like this in a long time so it made her feel happy. Her stomach's loud grumble interrupted her thoughts so she pinned it on her tunic, right above her left breast.

"Maester, I'm going to head down for something to eat now. If he wakes up, please let me know." She nodded toward Gendry and looked back at him. He smiled widely and shooed her out the door. She took one last glimpse of Gendry and smiled. _You aren't going to die. Not today._


	11. Chapter 11

It was the same dream; a misty, strange dream. He remembered seeing his mother, her blonde hair swirling all around her as if it were dancing to the sound of the music that floated melodically from her pink lips. But then Arya was there too, only she was dancing around and around, keeping beat with his mother's song. Her bare feet stomped the ground and brought up clouds of dust that clung to her skin and trousers. He remembered thinking how completely opposite Arya and his mother seemed. His mother's pure, white flesh shined brightly within the fog, her tattered skirts hugging her hips. Arya's skin was dirty, making it easy to see her through the haze. Her silhouette was bold against the colorless atmosphere, making the happiness radiating from her face apparent.

It was fascinating for him to see her so carefree and joyful, he couldn't stop watching her. His mother faded into the background but her voice remained, weaving itself into the fog. Arya started to dance toward him and when she was close enough, he tried reaching out, but his arms didn't appear. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if she was real. He wanted to _feel_ her. But he couldn't and she continued to dance near him, as if she was teasing him. Her eyes were closed blissfully and her mouth was in a content, crooked smile. It was relieving to see her really smile. He thought that if he could touch her, he would dance with her. He would take her hands and spin her around, see if he could even make her laugh.

But as he thought that, the song changed. His mother's voice became ominous and unsettling. The mist billowed around Arya, enveloping her in the sinister tune. Her dance slowed and stopped. The wind twisted and pulled her hair up above her head, her clothes flapping in the tornado. She crossed her arms and held her body, tucking her face down into her arms. He wanted to run to her or yell at his mother to stop singing; but he couldn't.

He tried moving with all his might and eventually, she got closer. Closer and closer until she was near enough to reach out and touch. He saw his hand appear in front of him so he quickly thrust his hand out, reaching behind Arya's head and attempted to pull her toward him. He couldn't feel the wind or her hair or her skin, he couldn't feel anything. His hand passed through her as if he was ghost. Her hand shot up and grabbed his, but this time, he could feel. She clutched tightly, her fingers constricting around to his palm. All he could think was how cold her grasp was when her head snapped up. Liquid ruby streaked her skin, her eyes open wide. They were clouded over, matching the mist that swirled around them. Her face creased in panic, the red streaming over her cheeks, down her neck. "Wake up…" she whispered, her void eyes bore into him, "Wake up, Gendry," He felt as if someone was suffocating him, the fog filled his lungs, choking him, "You have to wake up Gendry. _Please._ "


	12. Chapter 12

"Gendry. Can you hear me?" Maester Vyman's voice sounded tight and worried. He moved his mouth but only a rasp and then coughing. He felt the maester's hand on his shoulder pulling him sideways and a cloth against his mouth. A metallic taste touched his tongue and all he could see was red. His chest felt like it was going to explode. Racking coughs shook his body like a strong wind to a sapling. They finally let up, almost in time for him to pass out from the effort. He clung to his consciousness, like he was swimming away from a current trying to drag him under the surface. He felt a cold wetness on his face so he heaved his eyelids upward and saw the maester's wrinkled face.

"Where's Arya?" He croaked, trying to decide whether the events that happened before he fell asleep were real or a dream. He wanted to believe they were real and Arya was awake and he made it back in time. But it seemed so vague. He could only remember faces, nothing more.

"She is well, son. She will come visit soon." His voice was soft and soothing. No wonder he was a maester, he was good at calming people. He didn't want to fall back to sleep yet, not until he was sure Arya was alive.

Maester Vyman rose a cup to his lips. _Dream wine._ "No-." He felt his heart beat faster. He remembered why he didn't want to sleep.

The maester shook his head, "It's water. Rest easy, now." He had forgotten about water. As he eagerly swallowed a few gulps, his throat ground together like it was lined with rocks. The coldness of the water made his mouth less dry but his shivers became worse. The scratchy wool blanket was tucked around him. _Where's Arya?_ He just needed to know she was all right. The warmth of the blanket was dragging him under again and the maester simply stood beside him dabbing his neck with a wet cloth. _Stay awake. Stay awake._

Then there was a creak as the door opened and Arya strode in. "Maester, I had another que-," Their eyes met and relief took over his body. _She was awake._ "Gendry…" Arya mouthed. She was suddenly beside him like he had blinked for too long. It was impossible to read the expression on her face. She looked nervous and relieved and happy at the same time. Arya placed her hand on his arm over the blanket like she was deciding if he was truly there.

The relief of knowing she was awake gave his body the chance to relax and succumb to his tiredness. His eyes slid closed with her grey eyes watching cautiously. He could still feel her fingers moving along his arm. They were warm through the wool and he didn't feel as afraid to fall asleep; he wasn't alone.

But then her presence was gone. He couldn't determine if it was because he had fallen asleep or she had actually moved away. _Arya, don't leave me._ And then he could feel her hand again like she had read his mind. _Don't leave me again._

 _Guilty. It was his fault she was stolen. She ran away and he couldn't help her. The betrayal in her eyes always haunted him. In the forge, on missions with the Brotherhood, anywhere he went. He thought they could be his family but he was stupid. They were the same as all men; greedy and selfish. Arya was there when he needed her but she disappeared and left him. It was his fault. He deserved to be alone, but Arya didn't. She lost everyone she loved and he just twisted the dagger a little more in her gut by choosing the Brotherhood over her. He lost her trust and her friendship._

 _Arya, I'm so sorry._

Gendry was in darkness but not the blank space that comes with sleep. He was actually there, in the blackness of an enclosed room. He looked around, but his eyes couldn't adjust. He didn't know if he was actually in a dream world or in the room they had been keeping him. His face felt hot and he could hear his labored breath. He wanted to move but he felt too exhausted to do more than glance at his surroundings.

His mother's voice pulled him out of his confusion. She was singing again. Her voice was soft and lovely like he always imagined the way she would look. He only ever remembered her yellow hair and voice, since she had died when he was too young of an age to retain a solid image. He let her song wash over his body like a refreshing spring breeze. He closed his eyes and smiled. He wished she could be with him and he could feel her gentle touch. He felt a tear slip from his eye as her memory coaxed his emotions from his chest.

Gendry's mother loved him and did what she could as an alehouse worker. He remembered the way she would stroke his hair and sing to him as he fell asleep in his scratchy straw bed. It was like he could feel her now. He could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks more heavily and he longed to see her face and feel her comforting warmth and to finally feel safe again. The pain in his muscles and throat faded as he let the wistful music embrace his body. He felt peaceful and happy for the first time in so long. He could die this way. He would be happy to die right then.

Her tone became stronger and he could feel being lifted from the lumpy bed. He wanted to open his eyes and see his mother's face but he was too afraid of losing the relief he gained from her music. He wanted to let go of everything and not be afraid or alone anymore. He continued to float upward away from his pain.

"Wake up _."_ Someone whispered urgently. _No, I want to go._

"Gendry, please wake up." _I want to go with my mother. Leave me alone._ His mother's voice continued.

"Don't die Gendry!" He felt a hand around his wrist and he stopped. _What are you doing? I want to die._ His mother's song wavered.

"Gendry! Please!" Arya's voice rang through clear and painful. His illness hit him full force like he belly-flopped from a mile above a lake of agony and misery. His mother disappeared and Arya took her place. He didn't have time to miss her but he yearned to comfort Arya. He could feel the panic and fear emanating from her words, her hands, her breath on his cheek.

"Please Gendry! Wake up!"

"I'm awake." He breathed in return. His arms and legs trembled with exhaustion and his fists tangled in the cotton sheet. His lungs burned and he could taste blood.

He heard a shaky sigh and then speaking. He didn't recognize the men's voices through his panting, so he focused on Arya's. "What will happen now?" She sounded as tired as he felt. Her voice was rough with worry. _I'm all right, now. I won't leave if you don't._

"Gendry, you need to drink this." He felt metal against his lips so he nodded slightly and welcomed the warm, sweet liquid into his swollen throat. Its effects took over almost immediately. His mind became numb, dulling the torment of his body. He was aware of movement beside him and a mouth next to his ear.

"Live, Gendry." _I will for you m'lady._


	13. Chapter 13

Gendry slept in a dreamless, peaceful slumber for an impossibly long time. However, he was painfully aware of his sickness whittling away at his body. His muscles ached with neglect and his skin burned with fever. He thought he would never wake, and if he did there wouldn't be anything left of his body.

Soon, voices began to break into his conscience. There was the maester, Arya, and Lord Tully. He mostly heard Arya speaking separately but not to anyone in particular. She spoke of Braavos and titans and sight-stealing milk and chambers of faces. And then he would feel warmth along his arm. He didn't know if she ever left his side. It was a comforting and confusing thought. He never would have expected Arya to be the kind of person to believe presence could affect someone's health. In a way, he wanted to believe that was the reason he was improving. He didn't hear his mother's voice anymore and he wanted to feel sad, but he knew Arya's was what was keeping him alive.

He continued to cling to the sound of her until he woke up. His body felt heavy, like every fiber of his being was being pulled downward like a puppet. The nauseating sweet scent of incense filled his nostrils and the hotness of the room hugged him in a suffocating cloak. Clinking of glasses and scraping of metal touched his ears from somewhere in the room. _Must be Maester Vyman. But where's Arya?_

Gendry opened his eyes slowly and cautiously as to not startle anyone if they were nearby. Blinking sleep sand away was quite the effort before even being able to fully adjust to the environment. The wool blanket only covered the bottom half of his body. At first, he was confused about why it wasn't pulled further up to keep him warm, but small red dips spotted his skin and he understood the reason immediately, his skin crawling. It wasn't hard to distract himself from the leeching marks as he slowly became shocked by the rest of his body. He almost didn't recognize it. The paleness and emaciation would have looked more natural on a scrawnier, elderly version of himself. Still astonished by his body's transformation he overlooked the sleeping figure beside him.

Her fingers were tangled among his, her cheek resting on the top of his arm, her dark eyelashes nearly invisible against the bruises beneath her eyes. Her soft breath fluttered through his arm hair, raising goose pimples. Brown strands of hair hung loose across her face, the messy braid draped on her neck. Leaning forward in a chair with her arms resting on the edge of the bed made him squirm with how uncomfortable she seemed.

 _Arya, what are you doing?_ She looked so tired. Why was she doing this to herself? He looked over to where he assumed the maester was working. He opened his mouth and hesitantly whispered, "Maester Vyman." It came out crackled, but he received a reaction. The maester turned quickly, almost losing grip of the vial he was examining.

"Gendry?" He shuffled over still holding his experiment. He nodded in response, hoping he would stay quiet enough not to wake Arya. "How do you feel?" The maester asked, placing a chilly hand on his forehead, scrutinizing him.

It took a few tries to procure his voice but he rasped, "I feel better. At least than I did before." He remembered waking up the first time and the pain fogging his mind. It still felt as if someone rather large was sitting on his chest, but at least he wasn't coughing.

"You need to drink water, right now." He went to his desk and filled a goblet. "You have been sleeping for close to a week now. You were able to consume water every few days, thankfully. But you haven't eaten either." His stomach growled painfully in reply. He drank deeply, cherishing the cool comfort coating his sore throat.

The maester set the cup a side, "I'll have someone bring some soup."

"Wait, maester. Why is she sleeping here?" He nodded toward Arya.

He looked down at her pitifully, "She's been sleeping here more often. She had been going to her chamber at night but she would return a few hours later. I'm concerned for her." He sighed, "I cannot convince her to do anything I ask."

He smiled sadly. _Typical Arya._ He hoped she hadn't been missing out on the comfort of a bed because of him. Maester Vyman walked from the room in search of a servant to bring soup.

He studied Arya's face again. Why wouldn't she stay in her own room? There was no way she was worried about him. But then, her voice begging him to wake up echoed in the back of his mind. He frowned. He didn't even know if anything he remembered was true. It was likely that her touching his arm was real, since she was holding his hand now. His heart doubled its speed. He could feel her skinny fingers linked with his own. He reflexively constricted his hold on her hands.

Gendry looked away ignoring the charge he felt from her touch. He suddenly felt nervous. Ignoring the unexpected closeness and the accompanying feelings, Gendry sighed shakily and looked in the opposite direction toward the maester's desk. There were glass bottles and little stone bowls strewn across the wooden top. There were several candles throughout the room substituting the cloaked natural light from the window. He was staring at a large, familiar looking jar when a glint of silver caught his eye. He squinted in the direction of the mysterious object when a shimmer of green reflected against the wall. _The dagger._

He heard the chair screech against the floor, a startled gasp and the abrupt absence of Arya. "G-Gendry!" He whipped his head around and regretted it immediately. He winced from the sharp stab in the middle of his forehead. He could see Arya's horrified expression even through the water gathering in his eyes.

"Where's the maester? Why isn't he here? Where did he go?" her voice continued to rise anxiously with each frantic question.

"Arya-,"

She stared wide eyed around the room, her voice trembling, "Where did he _go?_ "

He groped the distance between them, stretching out as far as his reach allowed. Hoping to stifle her panic, he croaked, "Arya, calm down," as he still attempted making contact with her. She continued to survey the room, oblivious of his presence. Her chest was rising and falling so quickly, he was afraid she was going to faint. He heaved himself on to his elbow and yanked her hand, "Arya. _Stop._ " Her head jerked in his direction and he could see fear plaguing her features. Her eyes were bright and her face tight with worry. _Gods, who is this girl?_ He pulled her closer to the bed, his voice grinding through his sore throat, "I'm fine. He just went to get me soup."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Why did he leave? You could've started coughing again." She stumbled forward and plopped into the chair. _Was she really that concerned about his coughing?_ He didn't even remember coughing that much when he woke up before.

Striving to continue his reassurance, Gendry wheezed slightly readying his voice for more use, "I've been awake for a while now. He was here earlier but like I said, he just went to get me some soup. I'm starving." He smiled lightly ignoring the cracking of his voice at the end of each word, trying to ease her previous behavior. She looked back at him, her grey eyes full of distress. For some unexplainable reason, his smile broadened. He hadn't truly known she was awake and he hadn't truly seen her since the day she was poisoned. It made him happy to see her conscious and halfway normal. As he continued to look at her, her eyes relaxed and her lips parted in thought. Her hair fell around her face, creating delicate fingers of shadow that caressed the curves of her cheek bones. She was really worried about him and she was taking it out on herself. He could see the exhaustion and stress taking its toll on her body. He didn't want her to do that anymore.

"Arya, I-." he started as the door swung open and they both jumped. Arya wrenched her hand from his grip.

"I swear, there are no useful servants around here. Oh, my lady, you're awake as well." The maester tottered in carrying a steaming bowl of creamy liquid. The smell hit him almost immediately, triggering a nasty ache in his belly. His arm began to tremble from the weight of leaning so he fell back against his pillows.

"Let's get some pillows behind you so you can sit up, Gendry." His neck and back was stiff and sore from lack of movement. He grunted with the effort as they stuffed pillows under him. Arya had her arm firmly against his back, her hair tickling his face. Once he was situated, the maester hesitantly gave him the bowl. "Are you sure you can feed yourself?"

He reached for it confidently, "Of course I can." He didn't need to be spoon fed like a child. Between them propping him up and gazing at him with pity, he was beginning to be annoyed by everyone's fussing. He took the spoon in his fingers and scooped the thick pale liquid. His mouth watered from the thought of the savory soup filling his mouth. As soon as the spoon left the bowl, it tipped sideways. He grimaced at the steaming burn he received on his chest. He glanced at Arya who was attempting to hide a grin. The maester had already left for his desk. He half growled and tried raising the spoon to his lips again. His hand wobbled right before it reached his mouth and it spilled down his chin, into his unkempt scruff.

"Give me the bowl." Arya laughed, holding her hand out. He glared at her. He didn't appreciate the mocking tone she gave him.

"No." He tried again and he reached his mouth but the spoon seared his lips and he cursed.

He could practically hear Arya roll her eyes, "Stop being so stubborn and let me help you." She tried snatching the bowl from his hands but he jerked it away, sloshing more on to his skin.

"Ouch! I'm not being stubborn!"

"You're right, you're being _stupid_. Give me the damn soup." Her grey eyes bore into him, giving him no room for argument. They stared each other down for a few moments longer and he finally handed the soup over, his shaking hand almost knocking more out of the bowl.

She smiled victoriously and scoffed, "There, now you barely have any more soup to eat. Let's clean you up first." She stood and wiped his chest clean. He could sworn her face became slightly redder as she swabbed the soup from his chin. When has she ever been the motherly type?

She sat back in her chair and blew on a spoonful of soup. She held it out for him but he had to lean almost off the bed to retrieve it. He lost the little balance he had and nearly fell out of the bed. She hooked her arm around him and pushed him gently back.

"S-sorry." He whispered, embarrassed. _I guess I am weaker than I thought._ She was balancing the bowl in one hand and bracing him with the other.

"No, I'll sit closer. It was my fault." She sounded as guilty as if she caused him a bigger pain than just losing his balance. She squeezed on to the already too small bed, beside him. She looked at him apologetically and then readied another serving. This time, he only had to open his mouth and she shoveled it in. He watched her in silence. He couldn't get over the deep, sleepless marks under her eyes. Maybe she was still recovering from the poison.

"Are you feeling better? I mean, since you woke up from the poison?"

Her expression changed completely, "I wish everyone would stop asking me. I'm _fine._ " She sounded really exasperated. He could almost bet her uncle had something to do with her irritation.

"Then why do you look so tired?"

Her eyes flashed and she continued to feed him but avoided making eye contact, "No reason. It's just hard for me to sleep in a bed when I'm used to the ground." He knew she was lying. He could always see right through her.

"Then why don't you sleep on the ground?" he smirked and she scowled.

"Shut up. My uncle would never let me do that. Also, he's not letting me train. He has _forbidden_ it." Her eyes became slits and she forcefully shoved the spoon into his mouth causing it to clang against his teeth.

He rubbed his mouth, grumbling, "Don't take it out on me."

Her eyes grew wide and remorseful again. "Sorry." She mumbled. What was wrong with her? She never would apologize for something so silly. She looked sorrowful, like a sad dog. He regretted saying anything at all. He wanted that pathetic look to go away.

"Did you find out who the dagger belongs to?" he asked hoping to distract her again.

She gave him more soup and shook her head slowly, "I don't know. Whoever it was, they weren't a Frey. They were just working with them." She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Do you think they were targeting you? Or maybe they just happened to have a poisoned dagger with them?"

Arya gave him a blank stare, her words drowning in sarcasm, "Yes, he just happened to be carrying a poisoned weapon because he wanted to." Then she became quiet, continuing, "Normally, if someone has a prepared weapon they plan to use it."

She continued to talk about her assumptions as he finished the soup. His body gave up on the consciousness he tried so hard to cling to, as his fever resurfaced. He was still propped up on the pillows when his eyes began to droop closed.

"Wait, don't fall asleep yet." He felt Arya lean forward and pull him into a hug. It startled his eyes open. _Was she actually hugging him?_ His chin was resting on her shoulder and she had her arms secure around to his back. She smelled like pine needles and lavender. He knew the lavender was her servants' doing but the pine was her natural scent.

He wanted to lean into her but she pulled him forward with a huff and he gasped, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to move these pillows so you can lie down." She grunted, pushing several pillows on to the floor. He tried supporting himself with his arms but he had no strength so he put his trust in her. He could barely keep his head up, not to mention his whole upper body. As soon as the pillows were gone from behind him he fell backward pulling Arya down with him. She landed on top of him with a puff. She was an inch from his face as she struggled to free her arms from beneath him. Their eyes met and his stomach lurched from the pressure of her body and her breath on his face. He squirmed, trying to help and finally she pushed away, her face flushed and embarrassed.

"Gods, Arya. That was harder than it needed to be." He laughed weakly. He could feel the blood pumping through his neck. He was getting so worked up over nothing.

"Well, I'm sorry for trying to make you more comfortable." She whispered defensively. She looked away and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hand was in a fist beside him on the cot. He felt guilty for making her sad again.

He knew she was going to reject his hand and he was going to feel like a fool, but he slid his hand over hers and murmured, "Thanks, though."

She glanced at their hands and took a deep breath, "Go to sleep. I need to talk to my uncle." She stood but he didn't let go of her hand. She looked back at him in confusion.

He had the strong desire to keep her nearby. "Can you stay until I fall asleep?" He didn't want her to go. There was still a slight tinge of fear that he wouldn't wake up and his mother would sing him away again. He hesitated, then, "Could you tell me a story? Like before?"

She looked anxious for a moment, but then softened to his surprise, "Sure. I'll be here if you need me."

 _Good,_ he thought.


End file.
